Galaxy Shonen Quatre,
by Khadaji
Summary: The defender of the galaxy, Quatre, and his long list of friends, find big trouble when a mysterous new student shows up to school. A Gundam Wing, and Yuna cross over. Please REVIEW. FINALY FINISHED.
1. Galaxy Shonen Quatre, episode 1

Ok, it took forever, far more then overdue, but i finaly finished the final chapter to the story. Read and enjoy, sorry for any problems, do to time constrates I did a rush editing job, but it should be good enough for now. I am mearly posting this chapter to finaly complete the story. I'll go through a more serious edit job at some later date. 

Episode 07: "Redemption and Retribution"

Quatre woke up covered head to toe in sweat. He felt as though he where in a sauna all night long. He could not help himself, he could not fight it, and he had no choice. He had destroyed Lebra, and Sally too. He sweat filled face now felt tears. His very own tears. Why did this have to happen? 

An image of Heero appeared above him. It stared back at him with viciousness, then suddenly disappeared. Heero, how where you involved with this? Why did people have to get hurt? 

He slowly crept out of bed. His room was very measly. Duo was nowhere in sight. He slowly cleaned up and got dressed. Then he headed downstairs. 

That's where he saw is friend Duo, chomping away at a large dish of eggs, and toast. Quatre slowly sat down across from him. He just sat and did not move or speak. Too much had happened. He did not even remember what happened after he destroyed Lebra, but he had a good enough idea. 

"Hay!" Duo shouted. "You are finally going to come back to school?" 

"What?" Quatre asked confused. 

"Well its been well over a month, since everything happened. I was so worried I couldn't stop eating." He said ending with a big gulp of toast heading for his stomach. 

"A month?" Quatre could not believe.

"Umm Hummm!" Duo said with his mouth full., then swallowed. "Yes, and Sally is alive," Duo said less enthusiastically, "But I am afraid that Miss Noin, and Hildi have disappeared."

Duo suddenly began to cry. Hildi was special to him, and to se him hurt, made more tears come to Quatre's eyes. Everything was a complete tragedy. He knew everyone else must also be sad. Perhaps Quatre thought he should help cheer up everyone, even if he himself was sad. 

"Lets go to school Duo." Quatre said with a small smile. 

"Ok. I am glad you are better." Duo said still less enthusiastically as before. 

They walked slowly to the school, the same path as always. The sky was blue, and beautiful under the bright sun, and completely empty of clouds. This was perfect for a happy day, but things where not right. The walk was like before, but with out the sense of happiness that had always been there. This was wrong. Quatre did not like it. Duo was quit quiet. He walked at Quatre's side, nibbling on a snake with his head bent down. 

Soon they arrived at the school, and into the lecture hall of their class. As they enter, Quatre could see Trowa, and Wufei standing in their usual spot before class started, talking quietly. Strangely Wufei seem as cold, and to himself as Trowa usually was. 

He walked up to them and spoke, "Hello guys!" He tried to sound excited.

They turned to him, and Trowa spoke first. "You finally recovered."

"Bought time." Wufie said without his usual fiery spirit.

"Yes, I did." Quatre said softly. "So how did things end up. I wanted to get more from Duo, but he dose not seem eager to talk, I heard about Noin, and Hildi."

Trowa paused for a moment, and spoke. "When I heard, I was shocked. I miss Noin, and Hildi was a good friend. I wish I was there when it all happened."

"You managed to Destroy Lebra, before it cause to much damage," Wufei said seriously. "Luckely Sally was not onboard, she was taken into custody by Oz."

"It also seems right after that night, Oz commander Treis Kushrenada, turned himself into the authorities, and said that his arrogance, and love for earth caused him to act wrongly." Trowa added.

Wufie also spoke. "It also seems that his top commander Zechs Marquires his been killed, but some unknown force, and evidence links some similarities to the remains of Hildi's, and Noin's mobile suits."

"Of course there is nothing conclusive." Trowa said.

"I think it has some link to that strange mobile suit we saw just be for all hell came loose." Wufie said, and pause, looking at Trowa. "I am not sure Trowa got a look at it though." 

"Everyone take their seats." A loud female voice echoed through out the room. Everyone quickly complied. Quatre looked to see their new teacher, and instantly smiled. 

"Sally!" He cheered. 

She stood at the head of the class, holding a folder. She looked back up at him, as he looked down. She had a warm smile. "Yes, Quatre, its, me. I will be teaching the class, for a while. Till a new Lebra can be built, at least." 

Quatre, sat down, feeling much better. Still hurt, but more relived. It would take awhile to get use to the way things have changed but he would. Even sadness must be overcame, otherwise how can one be happy. To be happy, is the only way one can live. 

"OH, I would like to announce something class." Sally spoke once every one took their seats. "I was just informed before getting to class, that we will have a new student transferring here. He should be here any minute."

As she said something caught her eye at the stage entrance. "OH look, he is all ready here. Come in, and over here, tell the class about yourself." Sally said happily.

The new student walked in calmly and slowly. As soon as he came into view the entire class was silent. Quatre could not even believe his eyes. It seems that everything around him was soundless, and is e was in some sort of void and nothing else but the new student was even in existence.

His full attention did not ever leave the new student as he walked across the stag and up to the podium. The calm clearing of the thought, and then eventually, and finally the introduction speech. The voice was calm, and beautiful, and familiar. 

"Hello everyone. My name is Quatar Arable Winner…" The boy said.

Quatre looked in complete confusion, as well as the rest of the class. They all could not understand. In front of them stood, a short, young boy. With sand colored hair, and a peaceful kid like face. The exact mirror image of Quatre himself. Even the same last name. How could this have happened? 

"…I have spent most of my life out in deep space, and have just recently come to earth." Quatar said, and continued more into his travels. Then came to the end of his speech. "… And for those of you who may be wondering. Yes, I am Quatre's brother, but we have never seen each other before now. I have heard very much of what my brother have accomplished, and that you are all his good friends, I thank you for your kindness to my brother, and hope that we all my be able to get to know each other well." He finish with a bow. 

"AH…" Sally hesitated. "Thank you Quatar, How about you take this seat over there. I will cross off Heero Yui in the seating chart."

"Thank you, Mam." Quatar said, bowing very politely.

Quatre was distracted for the rest of class, and all the way into lunch. He could not stop thinking about Quatar. His Brother? His twin brother? He had never known. Mom and dad never spoke about such things. 

Quatre and Duo were sitting outside at their favorite spot. Duo was scarfing down lots of sandwiches that he bought. "So Quatre, when did you ever have a brother? I don't remember you ever having one."

"I never knew." Quatre spoke. 

"I think this is rather odd." Trowa commented. 

Quatre jumped at Trowa's voce. He had snuck up on him. "Ah, you are telling me." Quatre said. 

Wufie also by Trowa's side, spoke. "I have this strange feeling that he is connected to everything." 

"Realy?" Trowa said. "Could be, it seems a bit coincidental."

"So are you going to go speak to your brother?" Duo asked. "He seems nice enough. Looking he is talking to those girls from class 4-B. 

"Is that such a good idea?" Trowa asked.

Wufei added, "Especially when the last time you spoke to a new student, half the school ended up demolished."

Quatre turned red a bit, well that's what he thought he was doing. Heero, did cause some problems, but then Quatar was not Heero either. And Heero, was just being forced to fight, he new that. Poor Heero.

"I will talk to him." Quatre declared. "I would like to know my brother, and know why he is here, and why we never met."

"Um, how about like why you never heard about him until today?" Duo added. I mean I think that may be important. 

"Want us to go with you?" Trowa asked.

"Not that Trowa could join you with the rest of us with that APPOINTMENT you need to get to." Wufei said strangely to Trowa, almost staring at his eyes.

Trowa nodded and reformed his face. "That is right, I completely forgot, the appointment, thanks Wufei." He then walked away waving good-bye, and disappeared into the school. 

"I would love you guys to come, with me, but maybe it would be best for me and him to talk alone first." Quatre said. He did not want to be intimidating to his brother by bringing a whole group of friends. "I will talk, to him, and you guys can join in a few minutes how is that?"

"If that's what you want." Duo said. 

"Fine, you can be foolish if you want to." Wufie commented. 

Quatre left his good friends and walked to in the direction of the new student, his brother. No one else looked like him, so it was quite easy to keep his eye trained. He was not even sure what to say, but knew that a warm greeting what be welcomed, and appreciated. 

As he approach Quatar seemed to notice him, and seemed to break what ever conversation he was already in, and then walked some ways towards Quatre to meet him face to face. 

"Ah, hello my brother," Quatar said.

"It is very nice to see you," Quatre said, and bowed. "I hope we can be friends, and get to know each other. 

"Ah, my little brother, I know everything there is about, you. I am certainly proud," Quatar said opening his arms and moved to embrace Quatre. 

Quatre hugged him back, like a brother. "So how come I never heard of you before? I would love to have known I had a brother."

"It is a long story, my brother, "Quatar said," but we are now together."

With that Quatar broke the hug, and moved his face in, close to Quatre, and locked lips with him. Quatre's face grew as red as a tomato. Quatar, his brother was kissing him, and with lots of passion. This made him very uncomfortable, he tried to pull away, but then Quatar grabbed him, and held him tight. 

Quatre used all of his strength and pulled out barely, falling to the ground. He skinned some on his elbow, and he hit the ground, and looked up to Quatar, who stood there with a small grin rising on one side, of his face. 

"What's wrong?" Quatar asked, in a somewhat dire voice. "Isn't that what you wanted to do to Heero?"

"What?" Quatre spoke, in confusion.

Quatar's face seemed to now be engulfed in shadows, his eyes looks menacing. His voce became very wide, and cold. "You very well know that is what you want from Heero, I know you want him to do the same to you to. What a shame he is dead."

"NO, what, are you taking about." Quatre asked, "Why?" 

"I want you Quatre, to be with me, and part of me." Quatar said. "But also at the same time I want you to be dead, but not just dead, to suffer, and feel the amount of pain that I had endured being separated from you. For your betraying me."

"I do not understand." Quatre began to cry," Please don't say such things."

Quatar came closer and kicked Quatre in the chest, knocking him over. Quatre tried to pull himself away, crawling as much he could backwards still looking at his twin. 

"I still do not know about all of this, I never even knew about you." Quatre spoke.

Suddenly a huge gundem dropped down behind Qatar. It was the HeavyArms. That meant the Poly-Arms had come, once again in time to help Quatre in need. 

"Leave Quatre alone," The loud powerful voce of Poly-Arms echoed. "I will not let any one lay harm to him."

Quatar looked up at the tall robot. "And how can you stop me? Apparently you never have dealt with a Newtype."

"Newtype. Impossible!" Poly Arms yelled out.

Quatar gazed deeply at the hug HeavyArms, and suddenly a bright bust of energy cam out of his body, and struck down the gundam in a single hit. 

"NO!" Quatre yelled out. 

Quatar knelt down by Quatre and stroked his cheek with a hand. "Yes, Quatre feel that suffering. But don't worry, there will be more to come, one as friendly, and popular like you, and many friends to see harmed." And then he with his tong licked a long streak form quatre's chin to brow. "I love you my brother, that's why I will cure you of friendship, before you die." 

More gundems suddenly apeard, Wufie's Nutaku, and Duo's Deathscyth, and the rest, Releena, Maline, Cathreen, to bad Noin, and Hildi were missing. They were all ready for battle. Also Rasid, and the other mokranac came. Again all the friends. 

"Ah, all your friends are here Quatre," He said, pulling him up, by his hair. The pain was great, and Quatar was being extra rough. "So which should I kill first? You good savior Poly-Arms is lying there almost dead, perhaps, I should be nice, and do a mercy killing." 

"No, don't Hurt any of them." Quatre pleaded.

"But once they are gone, then you can finaly die." Quatar said.

Rasid called out, "Master Quatre, call for us!" 

Quatre understood. He was not going to let this brother of his hurt his friends. "Quatar. I will stop you. But first, please just stop now and then no one needs to get hurt. We can settle any of our difference, or problems, with out hurting people."

"No," Quatar said throwing Quatre to the ground. "I will hurt them all. Kill them all. And then you."

He pointed to Duo, and his Deathscyth, and a bright light just as before erupted, and then the Lard black colored gundam fell in flames. 

"No, "Quatre, yelled. "All come to me. "WING ZERO!" 

The area glowed bright in as all the pieces came together, and Wing Zero Appeared around Quatre. 

"Yes!" Quatar yelled out. 

Quatre pullout his Beam sword, and attacked. Quatar dodge, and took off flying. Soon he fired out energy bolts, and fire. He seems very powerful with out a Gunam. 

The others, launched to help him out, but then suddenly more mobile suits appeared. Many of the weird black ones, and even a large Leo. And from the sky came the White Tallgees, streaming into the area. 

"Now, you have lost," Quatar, yelled out. "You have no choice but to use the zero-system to even have a chance to defeat me, and my minions, and I brough my something special too. 

Suddenly the Sandrock Kai, appeared around Quatar, and on its chest, it had Hildi, and Noin attached. "Now try and defeat me, Quatre, but in order to, you must kill two of your friends, either way in this battle I will win, be cause I will have made you suffer." Quatar yelled. 

"Your alive!" Quatre said, happily. They however did not answer, they both looked to be unconscious. 

The entire are suddenly become noisy, as mass amounts of Gundams and mobile suits began fighting desperately. Light flashed as all in the battle used their energy weapons. 

Quatre advanced towards Qatar fast. The Sandrock Kai dodge quickly, and threw its swards. Quatre evaded, and came in for a strike. 

How was he going to protect his friends. He could not let himself fall into the clutches of the Zero-system. That is what had to have happened the that night. What had happened? 

"Come on Quatre" Quatar yelled. "You friends can't be that powerful of shield."

He threw his swords towards Quatre and his Gundam. Ducking he just avoided them. But barley.

"Not good enough!" Quatar yelled.

Suddenly bright light came from the Sandrock gundem and hit Wing Zero breaking off the shield. 

Quatre was shocked. 

"OH, he is a Newtype, he can attack even without weapons on the mobile suit." He heard a muffled hurt Poly-Arms voice struggle to speak.

Around him and his so called brother a massive battle was ensuing. His friends holding off the other Mobile Suits. They seems very difficult, but his friends were strong and brave. All of his friends could take care of what ever trouble those mobile suits posed, but he himself would be taking Quatar, and he had to be careful about it. Noin and hildi needed to be rescued. They were good friends.

"You are hardly trying Quatre, Hurry and kill you friends." Quatar yelled.

Quatre carefully tried to take out the other Gundam's limbs, with out touching the main body where his two friends were held. Each try, more of the Wing Zero kept breaking off, at the strikes of Quatar.

"This is really difficult. The Wing Zero is not going to take much more." Quatre said. 

"Sorry, cant help, Catherin yelled back, wee are really busy too."

"I know." Quatre yelled. "Keep to what you are doing. I may have to risk it."

Quatre became more aggressive. He still had to be careful, he could not let his friends get hurt. With one more pass, Quatar mange to break off the left arm. Still getting worse, he could not win at this point. If only he could use is full power. 

Poly-Arms spoke out very difficultly. "He's a Newtype… Don't…" He did not finish the sentence. 

Quatres heart stopped. 

"Poyl-Arms!" He yelled.

There was no response.

"Poly-Arms!" Quatre screamed again.

Again he felt no answer. 

The voice answered him though. "Just like last time. Use it."

"SHUT UP!" Quatre yelled. 

Seemingly the entire battle stopped, and heard the voices of all his friends yelling at him to stop, or something. He did not pay them any attentions. He only noticed the single tear streak down the side of his face. 

Everything soon drowned out into silence, and blackness. Quatre sat in an eerie quiet shadow. He sat motionless. He was unable to move. Not even to blink. He did not even notice how his strong Gundem was being struck and beaten by Quatar. He did not even hear what his double said shouting as the mech was being chopped to pieces. 

His friends yelled, but he did not hear, or answer.

But it was not long. It seems like it was forever. But it was really short. 

"Fine." Quatre said angling his eyes up towards his enemy. "You want my in the under Zero system, then you will get that wish. But you will not make my friends suffer." Quatre said in a cold voice. 

Quatar smile. "Finally you will suffer!" 

Quatre looked back at his mirror with unblinking eyes. And one cheek damp from his tear. "Oh, I did not intend for my friends to suffer." 

With that the Wing Zeros arms shot out and caught the Sandrock Kai around the neck.

"What the?" Quatar shouted. As his gundam began to spark, and short-circuit under the crushing. 

The head of the gundem was slowing being squished in the single hand of the Wing Zero. Then it snapped, and the Gundem stopped moving.

"What... What are you doing?" Quatar asked nervously. 

"Ha ha ha!" Quatre laughed out ferociously. "I going to kill you." 

"No!" Quatar yelled. "Its me is suppose to kill you. And make you suffer." 

"I will show you suffering." Quatre screamed. 

The Wing Zero, threw the Sandrock Kai. It crashed to the ground hard, on its back. Quatre took aim with the Buster rifle and powered up. "Die!" Quatre shouted.

"No!" Quatar yelled. "How you will kill your friends."

Quatre did not replay or listen. He only pulled the trigger. 

Blinding light sprayed everywhere and then formed into a bright stream of death heading towards the Sandrock Kai, Quatar, and Hildi, and Noin. 

Another Gundam had appeared, crossing right in front of the beams, and also received the strike. It was the Zero-One. Quatre quickly noticed. Another tear fell from his eye. 

"Heero?" 

The Sandrock Kai was nearly all obliterated. Quatre turned to see the Zero-One. Only the part of the torso, and the left arm remained. It was holding the shield with Noin, and Hildi. 

"Heero?" Quatre said softly. "You saved them. From me." 

Quatre jumped out of the Wing Zero, and it disappeared into light, and its components, who also joined. 

"Retreat!" A female voice yelled, and all the attackers took off for the sky to get away.

Quatre ran up to the damaged hulk of what remained of the gundam. He ripped open the cockpit with all his strength. It was hard, but nothing was going to stop him. He did not care how hot it was. He tough through the burns, and he gained access to the inside. 

Heero was there like he thought. He was covered in Blood, and looked barley with life. Quatre jumped in and embraced him. He grunted in pain at his embrace. But heero took quatre into his arms. He slowly spoke. 

"I can't let you friends die. How can you be happy with out friends." Then he fell limp.

"Heero!" Quatre yelled out. 

The entire group came around. Cathrine and Duo, held Poly-Arms up. He was injured but hung on tight to keep standing. One they got close to the debris. Duo switch off with Wufie to run to Hildi. 

"How can a super hero like you get injured so bad?" Wufei demanded.

"EH, it happened to the best of us, time to time." Poly-Arms said. "Even Quatre I fear."

"He may be weak minded, but he dose have a pure heart." Wufie commented. 

"Yes. But it dose not take much to taint a heart. Especially a pure one. Quatres heart is certainly the purest one around. It can be dangerous." Poly-Arms spoke. 

They watch as Quatre embraced Heero, and the rest gathered to help. 

Weeks passed, and things seemed back to normal. That is with the addition of Heero to the group. That made Quatre feel wonderful. Another friend. They all sat in the front row seats at the stadium. The Talent show was back, and after some delay, was going to put back on the show. 

IT was wonderful. Every one was back together, and happy like nothing had ever happened. Hildi, still keeping the ever-hungry Duo in line. Wufie still as stoic as before. Releena as calm and patent. 

He looked to Heero, who sat next to him. Truly another friend. Then he suddenly noticed. Releena was on the other side, and she was leaning up against Heero. She seems almost asleep with a warm smile on her face. 

She must have been really tired he thought, and turned to see Duo and Hilidy in some sort of hand wresting match with a bag of popcorn. 

Then he looked to Trowa, who was right at his other side. "You know Trowa." Quatre said. "I still find it hard to believe with all that went on, that you missed it all. You just never seem to be in the action." 

Trowa gave a light smirk. "It just has got to be bad luck. That's all." 

"Its still very unbelievable. And that you never have been able to once see Poly-Arms show up. You do not know what you are missing." 

Before Trowa could answer Wufie stood up form behind them. "Its that one Girl again. Trying to show off her weak martial arts." 

Catherine Laughed. "Are you really that bothered by her."

"Hmmmph.." Wufie said. "Maybe if I showed her, she would learn." 

"Is that really what it is Wufie?" Quatre asked.

"Leave me alone, I will not take your petty misconceptions." Wufie spoke. 

They all laughed, and continued to watch the show. IT was a blast, and they all got to compete. Quatre totally wanted to win. Then claim his prize. The wonderful Poly-Arms. 

The End… Or is it?

Epilogue:

The room of blackened metal was hug. It was both spectacular, and menacing at the same time. The tope lords of the dark entered from the fantastically large doors, also made of black metal. 

Miliardo, Dorathy, and Duke Dramail entered and approached the other side. It was filled with many troops. Mostly the leaders of divisions and such. They approached the raised dais on the far side, that held atop it a shiny silver thrown. In the throne, sat a young girl posing a childish dire look. She sate in the fancy chair, which looked far to large for the small body. Her tiny feet were far from reaching the dais of which it sat atop.

"My lady." Milliardo said, kneeling. "It seems that Quatar has failed. He has perished."

"Good!" The child spoke. "He was not able to destroy Quatre so he deserved death. I guess it means that the whole experiment failed. Apparently the clone can't stand up to the original, even if Newtype."

"The power of Quatre did not even manifest with in the clone." Duke Dramail said.

"Ah, how can I harness that power?" The girl spoke. "I want it. And if I cant have it, I want it destroyed." 

"Anything you command my lady." Milliardo spoke. 

She smiled at his politeness. Adults were strange people. 

"The Goddess's ship was destroyed. It will take her some time to rebuild. And Oz has been humiliated, and likely will be shut down do to the incident. Only the destruction of Quatre had not been accomplished." Dorathy said, with a smile. 

"Your right." The girl spoke cocking her head to one side. "So your part of the plan did succeed. Good. Dorathy. You will be in charge of destroying Quatre now. Proceed." 

Dorathy gave a slow curtsy. "Yes my lady. I will not fail you." 

Duke Dramail gave a small Growl. 

"Well be off with you. Get what ever it is you are going to do done." The girl said. "The galaxy is mine and I want everyone to relies that."

"Yes, Lady Maramaia." The three shouted and marched off… 


	2. Galaxy Shonen Quatre, episode 2

Galaxy Shonen Quatre  
  
Episode 02: "Lunch Period Disaster"  
  
Trowa approached Hreeo slowly. He new it best to use caution. Sa soon as he got a couple of meters away from the new student he nodded to tell him what he wanted. Heero nodded in acknowledgement, and headed with Trowa around the building till the got out of sight from an on lookers.   
  
"What are you up?" Trowa quickly demanded.   
  
"It is none of your concern." Heero spoke.  
  
"I will not let any harm come to Quatre, and no one else." Trowa threatened.  
  
"I will kill, and destroy anything that comes in the way of accomplishing my mission." Heero state plainly. "Including you if need me."  
  
Heero turned his back to Trowa, and began to walk off. He showed deadly confidence. The look of a wile animal, held against its will shone through the eyes, that Trowa now could not see. Trowa, stepped forward, and jumped into the air. He flipped twice, and rolled landing in front of the slow moving Heero.   
  
"I am sorry, but I can't let you do that." He said.  
  
"Then we fight!" Heero said.  
  
Trowa, quickly threw a punch. Heero easily flowed around it like shifting wind. He counter attack with the same move, punching towards his target. Trowa swiftly jumped back avoiding it. He moved his arm up and pointed towards Heero. Immediately he was covered in a bright glow, almost eye blinding.   
  
He was now properly ready for battle. He now was Poly-Arms, the legendary protector of Earth, and also famous for his own TV show by his own name. His bright colored suit showed who he was, and so now it was clear who had the power. Heero would have to surrender otherwise he knew what would happen. Just in case, the fool was brave, or strong, he readied several throwing daggers.   
  
Heero stopped and just looked at Poly-Arms. A tinny smile just barley touched his face. "Is that all you got?"  
  
With that he began to glow in a bright of golden light. Heero began radiating heat that Poly-Arms could easily feel. Suddenly Heero bathed in light, shimmered and the light moved up into the air, pulling Heero with it. A large Mech appeared standing on the ground around Heero. Poly-Arms, had to back flip out of the way or risk being hit by the large machine appearing.   
  
The Mecha was hug, standing several stories tall. It was predominantly white and blue in color, but also had some red as well. It posed two large almost angelic wings on its back. Its weapons was that of a large medieval like shield, and a large modern Plasma gun.   
  
Poly-Arms was shocked. What was one like him doing with such advanced military power? How was Heero working for? It was a powerful force. It is a force that had access to numerous amounts of resources. That is it likely was.   
  
A large section of the school crumbled to the ground as Heero moved to squash Poly-Arms.  
  
He needed to do something quick. The defender of the universe needs to be protected no matter how annoying he was. Not many have a pure enough hart to do such a job.  
  
  
  
  
Quatre and Duo both sat on the beautiful green grass. They had just finish up their food, and still a good amount of the Lunch period remained for the one relax. Trowa had left, and him and Heero went out of sight. He hoped they would get along. The more friends the merrier, was his thoughts. And Heero he did not want to alienate.  
  
A loud crash filled the sky, and everyone at the park turned to see. The school had exploded seemingly. And a large Mech now stood with in the park. It was what did that evil dead.  
  
"Oh, man! That was no where near our class room." Duo complained.  
  
Quatre was stunned. Why was this happening? Then he thought Duo said something. "What?"   
  
Duo just smiled and waved his hand side to side. "Oh, nothing!"  
  
"We must stop that Mecha." Quatre said. "No one deserves to be hurt."  
  
He then saw a figure ascend to the top of the school. It looked real small compared to the large Mecha, but was a tall person. That's when he noticed. It was Poly-Arms! Quarte was now excited.   
  
He began jumping up and down. "Hay! Poly-Arms. It's me. Quatre. Your number one fan."  
  
Poly-Arms did not give him a single look, focusing on the battle. He was a good protector of Earth. He through a few of his, trademark, daggers towards the large menacing robot. In transit, they turned in to energy beams rushing towards their destination. The Mecha moved its shield in the way, and the meager rays were completely repelled.   
  
The Mech dropped its large gun, and pulled out a large beam saber, that radiated heat and light dangerously. It tried to strike at Poly-Arms. He dashed out of the way, and the building completely ripped apart, and caught on fire.   
  
Both Poly-arms and the Mecha battled on more. Poly-Arms attempted to lead it away. But in the middle of a city there was nowhere safe to lead it away.  
  
Quatre, saw the arm of a person in the burring rubble, that was a section of the school. He rushed to dig it out. Duo helped him. They pulled out the body and it was Miss Noin. His heart jumped. How could any one do such a thing? She was still breathing. Duo, left to start digging out another trapped person.   
  
He could not let this happen. The innocent should never be harmed.   
  
Quatra ran to the center of the park. And began to glow in power. In heart he had strength, and peace. But he needed to make sure every one was safe, his heart needed to see that they had peace. He rose off the ground and yelled out the word to call in need.   
  
"Sandrock!" He screamed and it echoed through out the city.   
  
The glow grew to the point that the world disappeared around him. Then he was sitting inside the mighty Sandrock. Hit Mecha, his Gundem of peace.   
  
  
  
  
  
Zechs entered into the lavished furnished room. It was of the elegant, most noble décor that one could ever imagine. With such furnishings one could easily loose his strength through stagnation. Power was only kept through battle. Lucky, his superior, and friend, managed to keep a good balance. He lived with the luxuries, but had no respect for them. It was a type of trait that Zechs always admired in his friend.  
  
He headed to the end of the room, where his friend, and leader stood gazing out an open window. A few steps behind him stood the ever-ambitious Lady Une. She was not a regular member of Oz. She earned her way in, rather then by the normal way of ones birth. She was not familiar one bit with nobility, and that is what made her dangerous, and a valuable asset.   
  
"My excellency, I am here." He said no a rough sinister voice.   
  
"Welcome my old friend." Treize softly spoke. "I trust that you journey here was pleasant."  
  
"Sometimes there are to many pleasantries for soldiers who never seen battle." Zechs said.  
  
"To true." Treize agreed. "That is about to change. Solider like us should not waste away in petty luxuries. It is our duty to battle, and to achieve victory."  
  
"That is what my heart tells me." Zechs agreed.   
  
"Then we should continue forward with the plan. How is our little play going Lady Une?" Treize asked politely.  
  
"All are actors have made it on stage." She said firmly, and then smiled. "The curtain can be raised at any time."  
  
"I hope you are comfortable with this your Excellency. I am not liking the use of shady tactics." Zechs spoke.  
  
Treize, shifted his eyes to Zechs. "We are merely taking advantage of these strong actors. In the end we both have the same enemy."  
  
"I suppose you are right, but it is still. Disturbing." He said.  
  
"We also need there power to. We do not the strength to slay a goddess on our own. With theirs we may." Lady Une pointed out.  
  
"She is right." Treize commented. "We can not underestimate the power of their Gundems, and that is to our advantage. The better our power the better our chances for success."  
  
Zechs adjusted his helmet. He did not like this plotting. It was to political, and dishonest. Surely OZ was better then this. That is what his train indicated. "I'll leave the planning to you. I just will fallow orders."  
  
"As what makes you feel comfortable, my friend." Treize commented. "If we succeed, then tomorrow is the first day that the earth becomes strong."  
  
"And what about the boy?" Zechs asked.  
  
"Which one?" Lady Une asked. "The Savior of the galaxy, or our sacrificial pawn?"  
  
"Hmm. I suppose both."  
  
"What happens to them after we are done, dose not matter. Just as long as they no longer interfere." Treize commented.  
  
"We should prepare to kill them all." It is the only way to be certain." Lady Une spoke.  
  
"That may likely be the only path we can take." Treize spoke. "Now, my friend, I suppose that you will be off. We need them to act the right scene."  
  
"I will do as you wish. But once I am off stage it will be up to Lady Une, and your Excellency." Zechs pointed out.  
  
"To true. We will be ready." Treize said.  
  
"Then I take my leave. Farwell." Zechs said while turning. He then headed out of the room, and then proceeded to the exit of the mansion.   
  
His time to rain was soon to come. He just hoped that the pawns don't end up killing each other to soon. Even if the plan was dishonorable. Once he made it out side. He jumped into the air, and floated up, glowing. Instantly he was inside the Tallgeese. He flew into the sky and to the city, of the play. His part will be important.   
  
  
  
  
Quatre stood tall in his mobile suit in the school park. He let everyone get out of the way before he acted. A ways away the battle between the Mecha, and Poly-Arms raged, as another build fell in ruins.   
  
"Hay!" He yelled out.   
  
The Mecha Gundem then noticed him. It quickly forgot about Poly-Arms, and charged Sandrock with great speed. It forgone running and took semi-flight. Swinging its beam saber, down with powerful force. Quatre dodged it barley, and the ground exploded into a large crater. He swung with his own curved power swords at the evil robot. It stopped his attacks with its shield, and then it jumped back away from Sandrock.   
  
The Gundem extinguished its beam saber, and put it away. That was good, because Quatre would enjoy if he would surrender. That way no one more would get hurt. It then kneeled down and picked up a large long object. It was defiantly a cannon of some sort. It took aim and fired.   
  
A huge light of heat came towards Sandrock very quickly. He had no time to dodge, and was struck with full force. He tumbled back from the force of the blast, and crashed into another building.   
  
Quatre could barley move a muscle. He sat there in Sandrock unable to move. The evil Gundem took aim again, this time to finish him off. It was strong. The front end of the large cannon began to glow, powering up for the final shot. Quatre tried to move, but could not, he was hurting too much.   
  
The blast came. He closed his eyes, filled with fear. The end was about to come, but then nothing happened. He opened his eyes to see Heavyarms, pushing the large cannon just far enough to miss Sandrock.   
  
"Poly-Arms!" Quatre yelled out. "Thank you!"  
  
"You must be strong Quatre, but never think that you are alone. We will always be here for you.." Poly-Arms said with heroic gumption.   
  
"That is the truth." Called out Wufei, as the giant Nataku stepped into view. "I also have a score to settle. I do not appreciate waking up covered wit the debris of the school on top of me."  
  
Heavyarms Jumped back to some distance from the evil Gundem. And aimed its large gatling cannon. Nataku was already in a battle stance, and knowing Wufei he was hoping for it to begin soon.   
  
"Carfule Wufei." Poly-Arms cautioned. "He is stronger then he looks."  
  
"Then he will have to prove it!" Wufei yelled with fervor.   
  
"You are all my enimy." A voice came form the evil Gundem. It was Heero's voice too?  
  
Quatre yelled out. "Heero is that you?"  
  
The winged robot took aim again. Nataku, and Heavyarms readied for fast movement. Them Heeros voice called out. "You will all be destroyed."  
  
"No!" Quatre yelled out. "Why are you doing this?"  
  
"It is my mission. You are my enemy." He said just as plainly as before.   
  
"But. But, Why?" Quatre spoke.  
  
"Are you going to battle or talk?" Heero Asked.  
  
Quatre was about to say some more, but Heero fired his large gun. Heavyarms, and Nutaku moved to attack. The blast came close. Quatre was able to roll Sandrock out of the way, barley.   
  
"Why must was fight?" He screamed.  
  
"You fool!" Wufei shouted. "He is not listening.   
  
Nataku whirled its fantastic dragon arms to strike at the Gundem. Heero dodge that attacks with quick precise mobility. Heavyarms fired its big gun, avoiding Nataku. Heero's Gundem however was very fast. It was keeping up even with Wufei's Nataku.   
  
"He is fast." Poly-arms comments.  
  
"Weak he is. He will not fight back!" Wufie yelled.   
  
Heero threw away his large cannon. Dodging attacks more it drew out its beam saber again. The gun crashed into another large building causing it to cave in. Then the Gundem turned to the offence.   
  
Nataku, attacked, and was parried but Heero's shield. Then came the beam saber. Wufei attempted to stop the swing, and the hand, but was unable to, because his arms were extended. The saber came down into the shoulder of Nataku. Heavyarms fired to in support, but then the Gundem pushed Nataku into the path of fire, using it as a shield.   
  
"AH!" Wufie cried out.   
  
"Wufei!" Poly-Arms, and Quatre yelled out at the same time.   
  
Nutaku fell to the ground, but still was able to move a little. The Gundem came around towards Heavyarms, and struck with its beam saber. Poy-Arms countered the strike with Heavyarms' claw. Heero then bashed with his Gundems shield, knocking over Poly-Arms' mecha.   
  
Quatre struggled to get Sandrock up to its feet. He could not let Heero harm his friends. The evil Gundem prepared to make a fatal strike to Heavyarms. Quatre rushed to save them, but was not going to make it.   
  
Then Heero, dodge out of the way, of an incoming object. It flew with power, the buckler with three energy spines. It then returned to the place where it first originated. The Deathsyth.   
  
"If you want to harm any of my friends, you first need to talk to me." Duo shouted.   
  
"Hn." Heero made some sort of sound.  
  
Nataku got up, and prepared for more fighting. Heavyarms was crawling to its feet. Heero stood there with his Gundem. Still ready, and willing to fight, but now a bit more annoyed.  
  
Quatre approach, coming to fill the gap of the surrounding Gundems. Heavyarms, Nataku, Deathscyth, and Sandrock all stood there around Heero. They were four and he was only one. Surely he would surrender. Even with his strength he could not stand up to thoughts odds.   
  
"Please, Heero!" Quatre pleaded. "Lets end this fight now."   
  
"Nh." Heero commented.  
  
"I would listen to what he says. Because we even got more fiends you think we are not enough." Duo spoke.  
  
Everything was now still and silent. The quiet was frightening. Anything could happen, now. Quatre hoped nothing more would happen the battle should just end.   
  
Heero then spoke. "You must master the system, if you intend to live."  
  
The Gundem jumped into the air, and a flash of light flickered, and it began taking shape. As it reconfigured it moved in top the crushed building where it gun fell, and retrieved it. The nit took off into the sky, flying away. It turned into a plane, and jetted out of sight.   
  
"Well, I guess he ain't come back to class." Duo commented.  
  
"He is weak, running away like a coward." Wufei announced.  
  
"It is now time for me to leave. All of you take care of your self." Poly-Arms said, and disappeared in a flash of light.   
  
"Why did Heero do this?" Quatre asked. But no one offered an answer.  
  
Everyone left there Gundems, and went to help every who was trapped in the school. There were a lot of people needlessly hurt. Quatre could not believe it. He made sure he could bandage all he could find. Violence was so bad.   
  
Trowa came to Quatra and spoke. "What happened? Did that robot flying a why cause all this damage?"  
  
"It was Heero. He wants to kill me. I wish he wanted to do something else. I'd definitely be accommodating." He said with a part smile.  
  
"I tried to talk to him, but he really did not want to. So I left him, and thought I would use the bathroom. Next thing I know the school has being devastated." Trowa detailed the commented.  
  
"Ah, it is always the same with you Trowa." Quatre said with a smile. "You just always seem to miss everything. Maybe it is just bad luck."  
  
Trowa laugh with a rather odd smile, small almost coughing laughs. He rubbed the back of his head. "Yes that's it. Bad luck."  
  
"At least no one was killed. Just a few scratches and bruises, the most hurt is Miss Noin, and she will defiantly pull thought. You saved the day Quatre. Wish I could have seen it."   
  
They then continued to help everyone involved. It took the rest of the day. But helping people is what Quarte loved move. He never minded hard work it had the right affect for the good of the world.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Galaxy Shonen Quatre, episode 3

Galaxy Shonen Quatre  
  
Episode 03: "Let's Get to the Show"  
  
  
The world rumbled chaotically with vicious ferocity. Quatre woke quickly, being jerked around badly. He caught himself, and rushed over to the clock, and turned it off. It was a good thing he was very quick today. The house was saved from horrible damage.  
  
"Hay Sally!" Quatre yelled at the box. "It's a weekend, I don't need to get up."  
  
An image of Sally appeared in front of him. She smiled at him, in a very warm motherly way. "I just wanted to help you get ready for the talent show." She tilted her head to the side, and closed her eyes softly.  
  
"Thanks for looking out for me, Sally. You are a true friend." He spoke. "But I can sleep in some more on the weekend."  
  
"Sure thing, my dear Quatre. You go back to sleep now." She warmly said.  
  
"Thank you again Sally, you really are a goddess." He spoke   
  
She disappeared after a little bow. He then went back into his bed, and snuggled back into the covers. He would need extra sleep. He had missed a lot, watching all those videos of Poly-Arms all night long. He closed his eyes and settled into sleep. Tonight he would be at the talent show and would again see his love.  
  
  
  
  
The Wing-Zero-One flew at supersonic speed across the sky, scaling a large distance over the land. The land of course was pretty much all urban bellow the plane. The growth of the city, and its population caused such to happen over a long time.   
  
Heero was very angry. He did not like to retreat from battle. The odds were against him. He was out numbered and he even had to face Quatre. A soldier should never underestimate his opponents. He made that mistake. He could have killed at least two of them he was sure, but his death, with out success of the mission is unacceptable. He had screwed this one up, and was going to pay for it. He was not to try until the Talent Show, but that blasted Poly-Arms.   
  
Suddenly another Gundem came into sight coming the opposite direction as he was flying. It was white, and black in color, and had the buckler, and large pulse mortar cannon, and the jet engines of the Tallgees. They passed closely, and the Tallgees turned to fallow the Wing-Zero-One.   
  
Heero did not like that. What did Zechs want now? He could not kill him now though. Not in his position. Zechs, and his superiors still held him tightly. The Wing-Zero-One changed at his command. In seconds it became humanoid, form its airplane form. He readied if Zechs was hopping for combat.  
  
The Tallgees approached, and hovered in place, trying to look as threating as possible. Then that voice of his came out. "What are you doing? Heero Yui."  
  
"I failed in my mission. I will try again at the talent show." He spoke with anger.  
  
"Good." Zechs commented. "Make sure that you kill Quatre. If you do this then you will live."  
  
Hereo, made a move to aim his beam cannon to Zechs. He could kill him now.  
  
"Don't move. I can simply make you self detonate if I need to." Zechs threatened. "I do want my fight with you. But that can't happen till Quatre is dead."  
  
"Understood." Heero spoke.   
  
The Tallgees moved out and flew far away up farther into the sky. He headed up, likely planning to break orbit. Heero, did not care. He needed to prepare. Then when he was finished, he would kill Treize; and Zechs if he needed to. He new who his real enemy was, and they should die by his own hands.  
  
  
  
  
Quatre, stood at his closet, trying on clothes. He needed to look presentable for the Talent Show. He would be able to steal the show, and then he could be with Poly-Arms. Man, was he dreamy.   
  
Duo, sat on his bunk, nibbling on a whole load of chips. He did not need to worry, he would just be watching from the front row, cheering his good buddy on. Quatre had to give his best. So he could win, and so everyone watching can have a good time. It took a while to filter through all his clothes. He seemed to always have more then anyone else. He came to the perfect thing. He would dress in his casual. No one would expect that, and everyone think it was cool.   
  
In no time he had on his nice slacks, and long-sleeved buttoned shirt. The small modest tie then wrapped nicely around his neck. He brushed his hand through his bushy blond hair. "Perfect he said."   
  
Duo, spoke up through the crunching of chips being stuffed into his mount. "You look just like you always do. What the deal."  
  
"Well if this is the look for me. I guess then I cant fight it." Quatre said with a laugh.  
  
"I think that's a little crazy." Duo said.  
  
"You really think so? " He asked.  
  
Due jumped off the bunk, with his long braid trailing behind like always. He came to Quatre, and leaned over his shoulder to look at the image in the mirror.   
  
"You always dress like this." Duo once again pointed out. "I would think of something else. After all you need to attract attention of all the girls."  
  
Quatre, thought for a second about all the girls that would be there. Then he thought of Heero, and of Poly-Arms. Mentally he began to drool. "Your right, Duo. I need to impress them. The girls that is." He said with a smile.  
  
"That's more like." Duo said, stuffing bread stick into his mouth. With in a second it disappeared.  
  
"So what do I need to do?" Quatre asked.  
  
Well let's try something out. Duo quickly ripped apart the room finding various things here and there. There was apiece there, and apiece here. Soon Quatre found himself in a completely different look.   
  
"Wow! Duo. I never new you had such fashion sense, with you always wearing that strange black suit of yours." Quatre commented on how his dress was.   
  
He was in much more formal looking attire. He has a white shirt, with black pants, and little boots. It had a little scarf, fluffing out from his neck. It held around his body quite oddly. It seemed to show his build very much. If he had been more bulky then he would never be able to move.   
  
"Hay, don't knock my priest outfit." Duo said point his fingers towards himself.   
  
"Sorry. But where did you get all this stuff?" Quatre asked.  
  
"Oh, just call it an odd party costume." Duo said with a evil looking grin.  
  
"That is nice."  
  
"Well Now that you are ready, lets walk to the talent show." Duo sujested  
  
"Ok, lets go. A nice walk will be great before the compition begins." Quatre yelled.  
  
They gather all the things they would need. Quatre got his Violin, and a little slip with things to remember to say. Then he got his ticket to the competition; the one that will let him compete. The one he got free in the mail only a few days ago. He has been so excited that he never though about who had enter him into the contest in first place. Which of his wonderful friends did it. He would find out after wards. He needs to give his thanks. He new it was not Trowa, or Wufie, and if Duo had, he would have said something. There were to many possibilities.   
  
They walked out the front door and began a nice slow walk. The sun was still up, and the day was just beautiful. For Duo, he had to also stop by a place to eat. A little dinner would be nice Quatre thought to him self. He then could also treat him self to a little goody for desert.   
  
A good place came into sight as they rounded another corner. It was a little café, that served good food. It also had good tea. He knew Duo knew the menu to this place very well. He knew all the places to eat in the entire city.  
  
"Yes!" Duo yelled out. "Lets eat there. There food is just great."   
  
Quatre smiled at his friend, and simply nodded in answer.  
  
"Yes!" He yelled, and began to run towards the café.   
  
Quatre then began to chase him. "Lets race."  
  
"He… he… Your on!" Duo yelled.  
  
They both jogged as fast as they could towards the door. Duo jumped ahead, using his head start to a good advantage. The door busted open as they rushed in. They then quickly found an empty table and sat with speed. Duo made it there a few seconds first.   
  
"Ha. I win." Duo jested.  
  
"You only won, because you got the head start." Quatre said with a smile.   
  
"Well, I will have to order some extra to get back the energy from that little run." Duo commented.   
  
Quatre looked around for a waitron. He saw her, then he the yelled. "Hay! Releena! Over here."  
  
Duo whispered. "Oh no!."   
  
Releena slowly turned her head to look at who called her name. She found them and stared at them carefully.   
  
"Oh… Qua… tre…" She said steadily.  
  
"Ya. Its me. What are you…" He began to speak.  
  
"What… are… do… ing…" She continued to speak.  
  
Quatre again began to speak more but then decided to wait. But kept trying to urge Releena on faster.   
  
"… here… It… is… a… maz… ing… that… we… should… meet… like… this…" She said.  
  
"We are having a little bit to eat then heading to the Talent Show. I am going to be participating in it." Quatre said.  
  
"If we ever get away before se finished a sentence that is." Duo whispered.  
  
"That… is… won… der… full… Qua… tre… Can… I… also… come… to… the… show..? I… think… it… would… be… fun… to… go…" She asked nicely.  
  
"Sure Releena. We would love for you to join us. You can see me perform." Quatre said happily.  
  
"Thank… you… Qua… tre… You… Have… a… good… heart…" She continued.  
  
She then turned a why. And began to slowly walk out. She would need a head start if she intended to arrive in time for the show. Quatre was really happy now. He can sure this fun even with one more friend.   
  
Duo leand on his hand with his eyes closed. "Man oh, man… Will she even make it by the time the entire show is done?"  
  
"Sure she will, Duo. She may not move fast, but she likes to have fun just like us." Quatre spoke.  
  
"I hope I wont regret you inviting her." He said. Then yelled out. "Hay I am starving over here, some one get their butt here with some food."  
  
Quatre smiled. Duo is just the same as always, happy, grumpy, but always with a good heart, and empty stomach.   
  
  
  
  
The Libra orbited slowly and calmly in the soundless dept of space. The earth was very large, and it circled quite quickly like all other spacecraft. In it large star shape it held over the earth, ready to protect it, and to protect Quatre at any time.  
  
Sally Po stood in the command room, observing everything in the area. Predominantly she watched Quatre. He had entered into a café, likely to feed his good friend Duo. She was looking forward to watch the Talent Show. Such events were always fun, and Quatre would perform. She had a lot of respect for him, and her duty did not go against some fun.   
  
A blip came up on her screen, showing something approaching. It was the Tallgeese. The Lightning Baron's Gundem. She wondered what Zechs would want with here. The members of the Earth military had no problem with her. Oz, and the Specials did not ever express and objection. But at the same time, both never did much cooperation. They did not have much periodic contact. Perhaps it is time over do.  
  
A radio message came to her, which she expected. "I wish permission to come aboard Sally Po. I need to speak to you."  
  
"Permission granted Zechs. The members of Oz, and the military are always welcome." She said.  
  
Several moments later Zechs Marquise entered her command room. He war read, white, and black. His distinct silver helmet on his head showed paranoia of revealing his face. She new he had something to hide. It was something in his the past. But it was a problem that only he could sort out for himself.   
  
"Welcome." Sally said peacefully. "What is it you need to talk about?"  
  
He looked at her a minute. Seemingly thinking. Then he spoke. "I bring a message, from his Excellency Treise Kushrenada, the commander of Oz. He wants to give you some important information. As you know, Quatre, in danger. A boy with a Gundem tried to assassinate him just yesterday while at school."  
  
"Yes I know," she said concerned. "But he and his friends drove him off. Luckily I did not need to intervene."  
  
"Unfortunately, according to his excellency, that he was only trying to test their power." Zechs said. "We think he will try the real strike at the Talent Show."  
  
"No…" Sally said. "That could be a large problem."  
  
"I am thinking the same. Treise wishes to request your assistance in protecting Quatre. He thinks there are also others in the conspiracy to kill our beloved Quatre."  
  
"It that bad, that even the military plans to guard Quatre." Sally inquired.  
  
"Usually in the past we would leave you, and Poly-Arms to do that task. You both enjoy it, and we gladly would like to continue to respect that." Zechs spoke almost biting his tong.  
  
"I understand. How can I help in your plan?" Sally said.  
  
"His Excellency requests that you take your ship down to a very low orbit, right over the stadium, that the Talent Show will be held. Some Oz mobile suits would join you. We also are going to pace our forces around the area, to help with security. Our hope is to be seen, and detour the attacker from attempting an assassination. The Lebra is much better at presenting such a detouring factor, then our own force. Additionally we will be ready to move, if the attacker shows, which sadly I have a feeling he will."  
  
"It is not a bad plan, but this only solves the problem for today. What about in the future."  
  
"Exactly. But we plan to set up an ambush to lure in the assassin after the show, with the help of Quatre himself. Its just tonight we do not have the time to prepare a proper apprehension. It he attacks though then we must stop him, and we will not worry about caching him later."  
  
"I am glad you came to me with this. I should also inform all of his friends." Sally spoke. "They too can help."  
  
Zechs injected at that moment. "That will be unnecessary. All of his friends are already going to be present at the Talent show. They are also already on guard do to the previous encounter."  
  
"That makes some sense. But it would be nice to inform them, so that we all can cooperate." Sally said.  
  
"You are right. Inform them at your leisure." Zechs said.   
  
"I appreciate you informing me. I really wish to thank you." Sally said.  
  
"This will bring in a new relationship between Oz and you the Goddess Sally. Lets hope this plays out to the end of the first act." Zechs said, and began to turn, walking off. "I must be off now. We all have our part to contribute."  
  
"God seed, Lightning Baron." Sally said peacefully.  
  
This will become a very desperate situation. As long as she lived no one will harm Quatre. She would live or die by that vow. The situation is various serious, if the military is involved. This boy, with the Gundem is probably just a thug. There may be a larger and darker power directing it. If there was not enough people who already had there minds set on controlling or destroying the universe.   
  
  
  
  
Quatre and Duo walked to the gate of the stadium. There was a huge crowd surrounding the place they looked for a seat, and admission. Quatre looked up to the large sign projected up on the side of the building. It said, Ultimate Galactic Talent Show: Featuring Poly-Arms, and Quatre. He was amazed at how they can adjust all the ads up to the last minute to account for his entrance. Of course they may have had more time to know he was entered, whenever that happened.  
  
They got to the line and saw Trowa, and Wufei, and Hildi waiting in line.  
  
"Hay everyone!" Quatre yelled.  
  
They turned and greeted him.  
  
"How are you?" Trowa spoke.  
  
"I am fine." Quatre answered.  
  
"I am a bit hungry." Duo spoke.  
  
Wufei had a rolled up poster and hit Duo over the head. "A weak one like you is always hungry. In capable one bit of fighting his own temptations."  
  
"Ouch, man, that hurts." Duo companied.  
  
"It seems that there will be an interesting show tonight." Trowa commented. "We checked, and they actually let Wufei enter the competition."  
  
"Yes! All those weak will fall." Wufei boasted.  
  
Hildi pulled Duo's head close to her eyes, to look at were he was hit. "Are you ok?"   
  
"Ya, I am good." Duo spoke. "Wufei is quite a bully."  
  
She looked at his head closely some more. "Well you're right, it is not bad, good thing he used only a poster this time." Hildi commented.  
  
"Hay you going to do my hair or something, let my head go." Duo said.  
  
"Ok, You are truly one who has to run around free." Hildi said with a laugh. "Here have a rice ball." She let him go and pulled out a sphere made of rice.   
  
Duo took it out of her hand, and then embraced her with his arms, and his eyes closed. "Thank you for the rice ball. I love you. I love you." He yelled.  
  
Hildi smiled, holding back a complete explosion of laughter. "He sure likes free snakes."  
  
"He sure dose." Quatre added wit ha smile.   
  
"He is weak." Wufei said folding his arms.  
  
"Master Quatre!" A deep voice yelled.   
  
He turned to see Rasid walking towards him. He had not seen him in several days. "Hay! Rasid, what's up?"  
  
"You are in danger, Sally just told us." Rasid said.  
  
Three other men came out of the crowd showing them selves. They dressed as some sort of Arabian type closes. One wore strange rounded sunglasses. He had never seen the guys before. That was odd.  
  
"Ah, who are these guys?"  
  
"Ha, master Quatre. These are Abdul, Ahmad, and Auda, I thought you would not recognizes them." He said with a smile.  
  
"Wow!" Quatre yelled. "You guys now have human forms? They are neat."  
  
Ahmad, gave a sly look, and spoke. "And they are real chick magnets too."   
  
Abdul thwacked him on the head with a poster; just the same Wufei did to Duo. He did not even move as if he had not even noticed. He then spoke again. "Well it is good cover to protect you, master."   
  
Rasid then spoke. "Please be careful Master Quatre. That boy would tried to kill you before will definitely come back. We will be around watching for him at all times. But still be careful your self."  
  
"Oh, come on Rasid." Quatre said. "I don't think Heero would try that during the Tallent Show. Everyone is going to be here."  
  
Rasid pointed up. "Look master Quatre."  
  
Quatre looked up into the sky. He saw a small cross shape far straight up. He was impressed. "Hay! It is Sally. Even she came to watch first hand."  
  
"No master Quatre," Rasid said. "She is here to protect you."  
  
"He is right," Hildi yelled out. As she and Duo were wrestling with another rice ball. "Sally called me and told me to be here for the same thing. Of course I was already coming to watch.  
  
"She even called me." Wufei said. "Likely first knowing how pathetic you all are."  
  
"I guess I actually get to watch, with out being involved in anything Trowa said.  
  
"Wow. And you all came for me. You guys are the greatest."  
  
"Hell... o… guys…" Releena called out. "I… am… fin… all… y… here… And… Sal… ly… al… so… called… me…"  
  
Everyone said hello in there own way. She slowly walked up to them. Ready to join them for a fun festive night of partying. Everyone really was here. It will be exciting.  
  
"Ok, everyone, lets get in and find our seats." Hildi shouted.   
  
Every agreed, and they began moving into the stadium. They all found a good spot. Right near the front. The place was crowed beyond belief. When ever one was seated there was remaining Trowa standing. There was no more open seats left.   
  
Trowa made a slow contorted look. "It seems we are a seat short." He commented. "Perhaps I will go and find Catherine, and sit with her." He then gave a little smile.  
  
"Are you sure?" Quatre asked.  
  
"Oh, yes. I am sure." He calmly said.   
  
He walked away slowly, and just as calm as his voice. He always was so smooth, in everything. He always had to go off by himself for something. That was his way though. It was always really funny of him.   
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Galaxy Shonen Quatre, episode 4

Galaxy Shonen Quatre  
  
Episode 04: "Tragedy Talent Show"  
  
  
Laser lights shot across the stadium. Strobing effects flickered on and off. The whole place was filled with deafening loud rock music. The entire place vibrated at the base of the all the music. Everyone screamed in joy. No one could hear the screaming at all, but it was. On stage they're stood a girl jamming on a large guitar, and sang out with battling power. She was determined to win. Qutre new there was going to be worthy competition, but this girl really was going to be hard to top. If she wins he would gladly cheer for her. Of course if he dose not win, then how would he able to be with Poly-arms.   
  
The girl had mean looking eyes, and screamed about power, and battle. She was definitely one who had lots of strength. Maybe enough that Wufei could even like her. She had very long hair that flung around as she jerked and danced. After many minutes her performance came to the end. Every one in there whole stadium cheered. It was a very good performance.  
  
Quatre yelled out for those next to him could hear. "She was very good. That will be tough to beat."  
  
Duo yelled back. "I'll say she has got power."  
  
The girl on the stage spoke firmly into the mike. "I very much hope you liked my performance. I always think we should fight for what we want gloriously. You are all wonderful people. I just know you will choose me." She then turned and trotted off the stage, and disappeared from sight.  
  
"I'll admit, she has excellent ideals." Wufei said loud enough for Quatre to hear.   
  
Quatre smiled. "Wufei? You are saying you actually have a liking for that girl. Eh?"  
  
Wufei turned his head away mockingly. "I only am commenting that she has reasonable ideals."  
  
Quatre smiled at his friend. This was not something he say in Wufei ever. So high and mighty feeling. He was always full of arrogance. The mere thought of praising another seemed impossible.   
  
The announcer called out. "That was Dorathy Catalonian, every one!"  
  
Everyone screamed with approval. The announcer continued to speak. "Now next up is the martial arts demonstration everyone has been waiting for!.."  
  
Wufei, gave a very smug look. "Hn… Now I will show these weaklings who truly deserves to win this Talent show." He said standing ready to walk onto stage.  
  
"Yes everyone! Give a hand to the wonderful! The fabulous!"  
  
Wufei continued to the stage. Quatre saw that his friend had confidence.  
  
"Melian! Every one!" The announcer shouted.   
  
"WHAT!" Wufei shouted, louder then a human seemed capable of.   
  
A girl cart wheeled on sage. She was wearing a traditional Chinese Kung Fu robe, with lots of bright colorful designs. Lots of gold showed. Her hair was also filed with Chinese affections. As she stood in battle stance at the end of her entrance, she wiped out a long staff.  
  
The crowed cheered out in happiness.   
  
"I do not except this!" Wufei screamed. "There is not Justice. I am the one who will perform Ku Fu. Not some weak girl like you!"  
  
He ran, and jumped onto the stage. Quatre was a little concerned. The crowed went quiet at his words, and managed to hear most of what he said. This was not going to be good.   
  
The girl, Melian, shouted at Wufei. "Get off the stage, you dishonorable dog."  
  
"You dare cam me a dog, little girl?" Wufei shouted. "A weakling like you should not even dare compete."  
  
The girl whirled her staff around. "I am not the one who is weak, little boy!" She yelled back at him. "I got honor, and you now have tarnished it with your lack of respect."  
  
"Ha! Honor means noting in justice and strength." Wufei said with his eyes closed. "Only the strong are the just. The weak, try to hide behind honor."  
  
Melian, gave a little smile. Which Wufei also met. "Then let us see which one is right."   
  
"That's what I desire." Wufei yelled.  
  
"All right, I declare that both my, and this boy's performance are now one and the same." She yelled. The she gave Wufei a tilted vicious look. "No mere demonstration can compare to a real martial arts mach."  
  
Wufei then got into a battle stance. He gave the look of total focus. He then pulled out his sword. Melian, readied her staff. Quatre was worried. This was not good. Some one could get hurt.  
  
Both Wufei, and Melian charged. Each ki coming at exactly the same time. They were not holding back any power.  
  
  
  
  
Trowa watched as seemingly the entire Tallent show was coming apart at Wufei's arrogance. It has been over two hours into the show, and no sign of Heero yet. He seriously did not think that hero would do something as completely cliché as attack as Quatre was on stage. It was like some stupid thing that would be in the script of is own TV show.   
  
"You really think he will come?" Catherine asked.  
  
"Yes sister." He answered back. "He will come. I can just tell."  
  
"I suppose that there will be more fighting then. I think it is all nuts." She commented.  
  
"It is. But it is necessary. We have to protect Quatre. He is to good hearted to take the initiative. It makes him to easy to harm him."   
  
They stood there watching. For a while. Wufei, and Melian were really going at it. They were doing every single type of martial art moves one could see in a Hong Kong action movie. Both of them were quite crazy. Trowa was a little concerned of what to do next. It was really all up to Heero.  
  
Catherine leaned over his holder. "Hay Trowa. What is wrong? You really that worried?"  
  
"I am not sure what I am concerned about more. That Heero will come, and we will have to fight, or that he won't come, and Quatre will win the talent show and he would try to claim more then just his prize." The though really did concern him.  
  
"That is funny. You are not worried about your own life, but you are worried by another person. Or more about what they think of you." Catherine said with a smile.  
  
"I am glade he only knows the other me." He said.   
  
A loud roar filled the sky. It was far louder then the crowd. It was the noise of powerful jet engines. Trowa looked up. A shadow of something flew over the mostly darkened sky. The stars slightly were covered. He knew though it was Heero. Finally came, and not to cliché like.   
  
"Well it seems we will have to do more of that lousy fighting." Catherine comments. "You better change. Into you alter ego. That other you, as you say."  
  
"Yes." He replayed. "Lets make this a very memorable show. Particularly for Heero"  
  
  
  
  
The loud rumbling noise grew more and more intense, as its source approached. At this time everyone was looking up to see what it was. Even Wufei, and Melian stopped their fight. All attion was up at the sky. The object was huge; it made more odd sounds, and came strait down to the middle of the stadium. The lights shined on it, showing Heeros' Gundem.   
  
"Its, Heero!" Quatre yelled.   
  
The large Gundem stood right on the stage. Wufei and Melian only a couple of meters away. It had its great shield, and large gun ready. The head turned a little. Looking for something then it found Quatre and took aim.  
  
"Damn you Heero!" Wufei yelled out. "There is no justice in this interruption."  
  
Melian shouted with as much fervor. "Your presences is dishonorable."  
  
Heero ignored them and made his Gundem point towards its target. Quatre, yelled out. "Heero! No! Don't do it!"  
  
"Hn." Heero grunted. "You are going to die."  
  
The Gundem started to charge its gun. The crowd began screaming, and everyone began to run, kick and shove. The entire stadium instantly became chaos. The end of the gun began to glow.   
  
Quatre was paralyzed. There was no way he could dodge this. He was not ready. Oh, way must all these bad things happen in such a good world he thought   
  
"Hold!, a loud voice echoed form every where. Quatre looked up, and saw Poly-Arms standing on the edge of the balcony seating. He was dress so heroically. He had a bunch of knives out in one hand. "No one harms Quatre without going through me first!"  
  
"Yay!" Quatre yelled out. "Poly-Arms you are the greatest."  
  
Heero spoke out as coldly as always, "not today." And he fire his beam cannon and his target.  
  
"No!" Poly-Arms shouted out.   
  
The blast carried out of the stadium with out hitting a ting by literally the last few millimeters. Right under the big gun was the Cancer Mobile Suit. It in just the nick of time pushed the cannon.   
  
"Everyone hurry!" Catherine yelled out.  
  
"You did not need to tell me women!" Wufei yelled out as light engulfed him, and Nataku appeared around him.   
  
The Cancer rolled over as Heero bashed it over with his shield arm. It tumbled over towards the still crowded seating area where everyone was trying to run to safety.   
  
Duo jumped out of his seat, and called out Deathscyth. It formed around him, and he jumped to catch Catherine and the Cancer. He quickly met it, but the force was so much that it knocked his Gundem over.   
  
"Shit." Duo yelled.  
  
"No!" Quatre screamed.   
  
The Deathscyth fell back casting an ominous shadow on to the innocent crowd struggling away. Poly-Arms jumped out towards the falling Gundem. He however would not make it in time.   
  
The Vayeate was standing near by, as it formed around Hildi, but se was not in the right position to stop it.   
  
"No!" Everyone screamed out.   
  
The Deathscyth came close to the ground then stopped. It hit an invisible barrier. Quatre looked up he could of sworn it would have already hit. Above him was the Mercurious, with its energy shields out holding back the falling Gundem. Hildi quickly came with the Vayeate and studied the Deathscyth properly.   
  
"Few! That was close." Quatre yelled out.   
  
"Damn to close." Duo shouted.   
  
"Sorry," Catherine said.  
  
"Forget about that, we got to stop Heero." Hildi shouted.   
  
Quatre looked to see Heero, and his Gundem. He say Nataku fall to the ground, as Heero use its gun to trip it. Also fighting was another Mobile suit, the Pisces. Melian also was recovering from close in fighting. Wufei and she had at least distracted Heero, while the others could have recovered.   
  
Still Heero was strong. He managed to push back both the Mobile suits, and was still battling on. He jumped to the side, turned his arm with the big gun and fired. The large beam this time did not get pushed aside. It shot forward, towards Quatre.   
  
The Cancer struggled barley to the side just in time, and Duo jumped up very high out of the way. The blast continued and struck into the energy shields of the Mercurious. The force pushed back Releena one step, but it effectively countered it.   
  
"Damn it!" Hildi shouted. "This guy dose not care for is own life. He is just going after Quatre."  
  
"That is dangerous." Poly-Arms yelled, and he made a triple tired flip fallowed by a long role, and he was engulfed in light, and Heavyarms appeared around him, prepared for battle.   
  
"Well the odds in numbers are on our side." Duo comment. "But he still dose not care."  
  
Heero jumped thrusting forward towards the majority of them. Duo and his Deathscyth were ready to meat him. He came down swinging his large energy scythe ready to take out that Gundem. Heero swung up his shield and met the big weapon of Duo's Gundem. Quickly blasts from the Vulcan cannon on his head fired into the Deathscyth, knocking it down.   
  
"He is fast." Duo cried.  
  
With in the same action Heero's Gundem swung its large beam cannon, back towards where it came from and fired towards generally Wufei, and Melian. The aim was not to good, and it headed towards still escaping people.   
  
"Dishonorable bastard," Melian yelled as her mobile suit began burring and ripping apart. She had jumped in front of the blast before it hit anyone in the crowd.  
  
Quatre yelled out. "Melian!" When he finally stopped screaming he noticed the Wufei had also yelled out the same thing.   
  
The Deathscyth fell to the ground hard. Hildy fired here Vayeate's Beam cannon at Heero, practically pointblank. Heero intently fell back and the blast fell past him, striking partially the Heavyarms, turning it to the side, almost knocking it over. Luckily it had lot of counterweight with is huge Gatling guns.   
  
Wufei shouted out with power. "You have no justice. You dear harm Melian!" He then jumped at Heero with Nataku in a berserk rage. Heero jumped up into the air and moved straight up to ovoid his attacks.  
  
"Damn!" Poly-Arms called out. "We are to close."   
  
Heero's Gundem rose into the air. Everyone took the opportunity to shoot at him. He moved side-to-side avoiding the gunfire. Most was rather light arms anyway, and would not do much damage even if it hit.   
  
Suddenly Heero dropped as some thing hit is from above.   
  
"Sally thanks for the air cover." Poly-Arms yelled out.  
  
"It was not me." She said. I can't really fire, he his not high enough for a safe shot."   
  
"The who did it?" Catherine yelled out.  
  
"Me." Miss Noin shouted, and her White Turus flew by overhead. It transformed into mobile suit form and touched don other the top rim of the stadium. "It is not only me."  
  
The edges of the stadium soon appeared Rasid Abdul, Ahmad, and Auda. Each of them in their mobile suit form, and aiming guns.   
  
Quarte ran to an open area and called Sandrock. He now would be able to help. Melian, how could I have not been in the fight already, as well as Poly-Arms. If I had then you would not have been hurt. He did not want any of his friends hurt. He had to stop Heero, but it did not like having to do this.   
  
The highly damaged Pisces, tried to move, but it was very damage, and Melian was probably barely conscious. The thought brought a tear to Quatre's eye.   
  
"Give up Heero!" Noin yelled. "You can not take us all on even if you are very strong. Also Oz mobile suits are almost here to give use support. There is no way out."  
  
Please just surrender Quare thought. He wanted him to just stop it. No one else had to get hurt, and the entire problem would be over. If he just would give up, then life could just get back to normal.   
  
Heero's Gundem set down to the ground. He did not say anything but he did not do anything else either. He must have been considering it. Wufei was ready to go and fight Heero, but managed to stop his rage. He had even abandoned his Gundem and ran to the wreckage of the Pisces, looking for Melian.   
  
Another mobile suit flew over the stadium, and sat down. It was one Quatre had never seen before. It was scary, and Black, with a big gun. It stood there and watched. Eventually a voice came from it. "Oh isn't all this fighting just wonderful? It said. The voice was somewhat familiar but he could not tell what it was. It was female though.   
  
"What." Noin said. "Who are you?"  
  
"Oh, that is a little surprise." It tauntingly said in a playful voice. "I guess you just could not meat up to what we needed in a soldier. Such a waste of glory. I command, Code: Operation Daybreak." With that the suit took off and flew away, out of sight.  
  
"What the hell was that?" Duo shouted.   
  
Heero's Gundem then began to glow, and charge up energy. Heero spoke out in an annoyed voice. "I an not your puppet Tre…"   
  
The suit exploded in a ravaging blast. It fell to the grown and many Pecies scattered. It was in a large rec. Every one stared at the destroyed pieces of the Gundem. It was a though opponent, and now completely destroyed with out even a fight. Who was that in the mobile suit?   
  
"What the heck is going on here?" Duo yelled.   
  
Quatre jumped out of Sandrock and ran to the burring ruble. He looked around. It was in both small and large distorted chunks. He dug trough it all, and looked. He noticed his hands a bit burned after a while. "Heero where are you!"  
  
He then found him. He was still alive. Barely. He tried to move Heero. He was unconscious and was burned everywhere. We got to get you to the hospital. The Heero of course did not respond. Suddenly Poly-Arms was standing over him. "Is he?" He asked.  
  
"No!" Quatre shouted.   
  
"I knew this was bigger then it seemed." Poly-Arms said. "The question is just how."  
  
  
"Quatre!" Sally shouted at everyone.  
  
"What, is it Sally?" He said.   
  
Others were now around helping Heero. They moved him out of the flaming debris.   
  
Sally spoke with a lot of fear in her voice. "It is the Oz forces! They are boarding Lebra, in force. They have taken most of it over. There forces are going every, taking all the defense satellites, possibly more. They started it some time during your fight, and been jamming my sensors some how."  
  
"What?" Quatre shouted. "Weren't they supposed to be helping us?"  
  
"It was all a trick." Duo complained. "Just to get done some filthy plan."  
  
  
  
  
  
  
The halls of Lebra was a complete battlefield. The Oz troops were pushing forward, with ferocity. They surround it with mobile suits. The troops on both side faugh fiercely. But Oz had numbers and superior fighting ability. The specials were not called that for nothing. At the lead of the battle line Zechs rushed down the halls with his forces. He was hoping to make it to the control center before Lady Une. She would enjoy such a success to much.   
  
This pan was very well set, and had been executed perfectly. That part most of all bothered Zechs. He did like to win. It was his nature as a soldier. But he had to tell a lie to accomplish it. Of course that is why he had to be the one to tell it. Treise some time your methods bother me, he though. He hoped that good would eventually come out of this.   
  
"The main control is just pasted that door sir." His second Otto, said.   
  
"Good, break done the door. But take those in side alive." He ordered.  
  
"Yes sir." Otto replied, and then set the charge to take the bridge.  
  
"Good, I got here first." Zechs whispered to him self. "Now you are safe Sally. Lady Une would have killed you out right."   
  
The door broke down from a bomb blast, and the troops rushed in fast. In lest then a minute they took everyone there prisoner. Otto came out, and approached Zechs and spoke "The full ship is now secure sir."  
  
"Excellent. Now lets get the systems under our control. And bring Sally to Barge immediately. His excellence will want to have a word with her," he ordered.  
  
He thought to himself again. He just made another lie. He new Treise did not intend to ever talk to her. But Zechs felt that if they were going to play be such tasteless rules, then his master better at least explain himself to the victims.   
  
They took Sally away, and got the systems working in a few minutes. Otto reported as such. He then left all the rest in Lady Une's hands. He had other work to do. He walked to the bay, where he called his Gundem to him. The Tallgeese appeared around him and he jumped out into the sky. He met up with the rest of he air forces, and flew off. They had more strategic bases to secure. He need to make sure they all were being taken properly.   
  
  
  



	5. Galaxy Shonen Quatre, episode 5

Episode 05: "Nightfall"  
  
  
Quatre held the unconscious Heero in his arms. He had fallen, and was just a tool, he thought. How could anyone do such a horrible thing to someone? Tears came to his eyes and they even fell only to burst on to the top of Heero's messy black hair.   
  
Heero did not move, more then a mere succession of light breathes. He was somewhat burned, and blood dripped ominously onto the ground. Life was not long from slipping away.  
  
Poly-Arms, and Hildi quickly rapped bandages as tight as they could around the fading body. Duo kept digging out of the first aid boxes they found to keep the supply of bindings up with the speed of their use. Releena was making her way slowly to them to lay a helping hand.  
  
Wufei was attending to Meline off in the distance. She seemed to be partially awake to Quatres view. Wufei had complete focus helping his betrothed. He even had his glasses on, which is something that he would seemingly never do.   
  
The tears continued poring from Quatre's eyes. His friends had been hurt. Even Heero was badly injured. All this was horrible. He needed to stop this.   
  
Noin standing as part of a surrounding circle of his friends gazed over all that was being done to save Heero. She had her teeth gritted very tightly. Eventually she commented. "We need to get him to a hospital. Otherwise he won't make it."  
  
"Your right," Poly-Arms said stoically. "We have enough on him to keep him sustanined. I will take him."  
  
"I think not." Noin interjected. "My White Turus can fly, and is faster then your HeavyArms."  
  
"Your, right." Poly-Arms said. "You take him. Hildi you go with him."  
  
"I am going to go with him too." Quatre said.  
  
"No! Master Quatre." Rasid yelled out.  
  
"Just what I was going to say." Poly-Arms said.  
  
"What? WE have to help him." Quatre yelled out, I need to be there.  
  
"Master Quatre, you must go save sally, right now." Rasid pleaded.  
  
"But.."  
  
"We got to do it man." Duo said. If we don't I won't get to eat my midnight snake."  
  
"Hay!.. What… Should… I… do… to… help?" Releena asked.  
  
"Ok, we got to get things going." Poly-Arms said. "Releena, you, Wufei, Catherine, and Meline." He said facing all the respective individuals. "Sally said before she was being boarded. We must all head up and distract the Oz force while Quatre, and Duo can go free Sally. Rasid, Abdul, Ahmad, and Auda, can you also help out?"  
  
"It will be a pleasure," they all said in unison.  
  
"Alright. Lets do it!" Poly-Arms yelled.  
  
"Wait!" Meline Shoughted out. She stumbled up to a stand, and Wufei jumped up to flank her, in case she may need help.   
  
"What is it?" Poly-arms said.  
  
"I want revenge. Heero, has shammed me. He deserved to fallen be my hand. Then Oz should burn."   
  
Wufei fallowed her. "Yes. It would be just to take what we deserve."  
  
"You can't hurt Heero" Quatre Yelled out.  
  
"We have no time for this." Poly-Arms said.  
  
"I will not let this go."  
  
Poly-Arms drew one of his knives. He gazed straight into Meline's eyes. She prepared to fight, only with a slight limp. Poly-Arms then turned the blade in his hands taking hold of the blade its self. He then held it out offering it towards Meline. "He then. Use my own knife to kill him. After all, you defeated him honorably, and it is your right."  
  
She showed her teeth like a wolf defending its pride. A glare off death was directed towards Poly-Arms. Quatre was not scared. He did not want any of his friends to fight. He saw Meline's fists tighten to the point that they began turn white. Quatre could not take it any more.  
  
"Stop it! He yelled. We don't fight each other." He yelled. "That is why we are friends."   
  
Quatre stood up, carefully setting Heero's head down. "We should not be fighting each other. We are all Friends. We just can't do this. It really makes me sad. You can't hurt Heero. He was tricked. He really did not want to hurt any of us."  
  
"Remember too guys. "Duo added. "You all use to be enemies before. But because of Quatre we now all can get along. And Enjoy nice snacks." He said taking a bite out of a candy bar.  
  
Hildi yanked on his braid. "Its not mid-night yet."  
  
Duo waved his arms surrender. "Hay hay hay! I was just a little hungry ok!"  
  
"He is right, you know." Poly arms said.  
  
Meline calmed down. "Fine, we will, not fight. But we still need to rip Oz a new Ass."  
  
"So dose this mean we actually get to move along?" Noin said sarcastically.  
  
"Lets do it." Catherine suggested.  
  
"OK!" Every one yelled.   
  
  
  
  
  
The hallways were embroidered in fantastically beautiful gold leaf. The designed themselves were fantastic works of art. The walls were even rimmed at the corners in real wood. The amount of expense put into such a house was beyond unreasonable. It even was well over three hundred years old, and been preserved like a museum piece.   
  
Sally was being escorted through these horrendously overpriced, artifact of a hallway. Eight Oz soldiers brought her forcefully. She was freighted at what they were doing with Lebra. With its firepower it could not be in the wrong hands, which horribly has happened now.   
  
They reached an Oak well decorated double door. It was at the end of the long hall, to show how important it was. Two guards were standing gauntly at its sides, and only moved to open the door to let her in. No one else fallowed, they simply pushed her in. She nearly tripped onto her face. She steadily balanced herself and looked up to notice a tall handsome man.  
  
This man looked quiet gentle but with eyebrows that showed a certain amount of viciousness. He was in a very decorated formal military dress. A short blue cloak hung from his shoulder. Sally new what this type of clothing was. IT was the formal wear of the Romafeller Foundation. A combine of greedy descendents of European nobility. This man was part of them   
  
"So," He started saying really slowly and calmly. "Sally Po. It is wonderful that you could join me. Even if a little unexpected."   
  
"It was not exactly my choice. I also do not appreciate that Lebra was stolen from me. And that your minion the so called "Lightning Baron" Zechs, deceiving me."  
  
The man, who was no one else then Treis Kushrinada, looked away shortly, pinching his chin in thought. He whispered a short fraise to himself and returned his attention back to sally. "I am deeply sorry for all the hardship. If you must blame some one you can direct it at me. Zechs was simply fallowing orders, like a soldier should."  
  
"Assessing blame is not what I am concerned about." Sally spoke loudly. "It is what you plan to do with Lebra, and while you would have risked so many lives. You essentially are conquering the world."  
  
"Essentially. Yes." Treis verified. "But not for personal power."  
  
"It seems you are diluted. You really are after the power, and you wont get it either." She commanded.  
  
"I truly am not after the power. My dear goddess. I am merely after making the earth stronger." He said, offering Sally a chair at a small ornate table.  
  
She did not move and simply crossed her arms. "It is not necessary for you to be curious. I am you prisoner."  
  
"Old traditional chivalry I guess." He said taking his own seat. "Tea?" He asked.  
  
"No, just tell me you selfish plan." She said.   
  
"Well, I suppose I could. Your friends will not be able to do much. They still do not realize that they are still pawns in a larger chess game."  
  
Sally bit her lip in some anger. She did not like the idea of his plan being larger. He was invading much of all the military defense satellites. Likely bases on the ground as well. IT seemed like a lot for her friends to care off, with out her. If she get through this she will have to be more careful in the future. "Well Treis tell me everything."  
  
He gave a small laugh. "I can't do that, you know. No, soldier should tell there plans to the enemy. It usually is in compatible will victory. I will however tell you why I have done this."  
  
"Well, I am the prisoner, I do not seem to be going anywhere. That is till I escape." She commented with a small smile.  
  
"Well, basically humanity, and the earth need to be strong. With all the interstellar empires, and galactic federations, out there earth has become the backwaters, and disrespected. We have been invade countless times in just the last few years. It is offal."  
  
"But Quatre, the defender of the galaxy lives here. And my selves I always protected the earth from attack." Sally pointed out.  
  
"And that is exactly the problem." Treis said more seriously, even frowning his eyes bitingly.  
  
"What?" She was shocked.  
  
"With a goddess with her space battle ship, and a defender of the universe everyone on earth tends to feel safe. Too safe. There is no reason to be strong when there is others who are strong to protect you. Your presence dose not encourage the earth to achieve is full potential of greatness. Additionally more then half of those recent invasions we all have had to suffer from are a direct result of Quatre, the so called defender of the galaxy. How many hove come for their own personal grudges against that boy? In fact many of them are still here, even if the evidence of their destruction has since been cleaned up."  
  
"I see." Say commented.  
  
"Humanity simply sits, and lets other stomp on them because of you. I plan to change that. And do not think that I have over looked our little defender of the galaxy. I will tell you again. He is still a pawn, but in chess sometimes you sacrifice a pawn in order to gain an unexpected advantage."  
  
"Quatre!" Sally whispered to her self. What is he going to do? Quatre you must be careful, it is a trap of some sort, she spoke in her mind. Hopefully he will hear it. She knew though he would not.   
  
  
  
  
  
The White-Tarus raced to the closest hospital. Hildi in her Vaeate closely fallowed. Noin was starting to feel very tense. Her arm still hurt a bit from when Heero destroyed much of the school. She did want some retribution, but that was not what was important now. Quatre must always be protecting in all ways. So her own personal feelings did not mean much right now.   
  
She flew fast, looking down at the night lit city. It was always very fascinating to see, no matter how many times she flew over. That however was in her heart as a pilot. However she could not look for beauty tonight. She needed to find the hospital, and fast.  
  
"Where is the bloody hospital?" She yelled out.  
  
"I see it." Hildi Yelled out. "The targeting eye for this big gun is nice for spotting."  
  
"Let's get hero down there. You lead me." Noin command.  
  
"Sure thing. Here I descend." Hildi said.  
  
The two Gundems began there descent. Quickly making it to the ground in the street right outside the hospital, Emergency room.  
  
Noin heard a grunt. She looked down to her lap, where Heero laid motionless bandaged like a mummy. Of course he looked offal, with the bandages half soaked in blood. "Don't worry, you just have to hold out a few more minutes." She tried to sooth him.   
  
Suddenly her Mobile Suit beeped to her. She looked up and saw some blips on her radar. "Damn it. I knew this was not going to be easy."  
  
"They are Oz Mobile suits. I think." Hildi yelled.  
  
Out of the blackened night bright white streams of energy flew towards them. Noin dodge out of the way, jerking far to much for Heero's. Her response time was slower with him in her lap. Lucky she go out clean. That is for this first volley.  
  
"Get Heero to the hospital." Hildi shouted. "I'll hold them off."  
  
Another volley of blasts came from the blackness. Noin managed to dodge again but they came much closer this time. Hildy suffered from a very small graze. Her Gundem went spinning but she quickly got control.   
  
"Your guns are strong!" Hildi yelled out as loud as she could. "Well so is mine! Take this!"  
  
The Vayeate took aim with its huge gun and fired. The blast lit up the night just like the enemy fire. It blast forth and fragmented out after a sort distance. IT created al huge fire work effect that was as bright as lighting covering half the sky.   
  
Noin direct her self downward much deeper. Heero grunted out in pain. These moves were to much for him, but she had no choice. Quickly she raced towards the ground. Building lights raced towards her fast . She swerved out of the way scraping the side of some building. She still was not exactly sure where the hospital was. However she would have to find it. Heero did not have much time left.   
  
"My beam cannon was deflected." Hildi yelled over the radio. "They are using my same gun. Be very careful! And they got…"   
  
Her voice cut out into static. Noin looked back to see be hind her and noticed a large ball of fire expanding in the sky. Roughly were she would guess Hildi would have been.  
  
Noin closed her eyes a second. "Hildi, please don't be dead. Who else will control Duo's eating?" A tear came to her eye. This was not right.  
  
Building exploded around her. Debris flaking out and hitting the side of her White-Turus. She was out numbered. At least it seemed like it. Her radar showed them close on to her. Five of them. Definitely not standard Oz Aries. If they were even Aries. However it did not seem un expected whit that one girl came with that unknown Mobile Suit back at the stadium.  
  
Finally she pulled up avoiding crashing right into the street. Noin then pulled her mobile suit only tearing off a small part of some building ,and directed her self onto the street. She did not even flinch as stoplights rapidly were torn from their spots and thrown to the air.   
  
Suddenly she saw it ahead of her. A tall standing ordinary looking Leo Mobile suit standing straight in he path. It had its mortar cannon aimed in her direction. She increased her speed, and began to fire. Such a thing would not stop her.  
  
The Leo fire slowly and repeatedly it large shells sailing in the sky towards her. Suddenly a large blast cam from behind. Actually it was many. The building fell, and some caught on fire. She found herself hit, though. The Leos shells then also smacked into her mobile suit, and she went down crashing into the ground and then set into a spin.   
  
The Leo jumped out of the way as Noin twirled passed and stopping halfway trough a building. She was not barely able to move. Although slightly better then Heero. Her suit could still move. She quickly changed into humanoid form. As the White Turus stood, one of its arms fell into the junk pile of the building remains. Unfortunately it was her gun arm.   
  
"Eh!" She grunted. "I will not go that easily."  
  
She charged at the coming enemy. The Leo just came into view, walking to inspect its work. The other unknown Mobile suits just came into view and landed in front of the Leo. Her charge was very slow, with her heavily damaged mobile suit it was the best she could do.  
  
Noin pulled back her suits fist going for as much power as con be done. The black nameless suits stood their ground, but weird disked flew from one shoulder, the same for all of them, and formed a barrier of energy. She called out as her mobile's suit through its punch and saw its arm explode as it struck the shield.   
  
"Damn shield!" She yelled out.  
  
The black unknown suit in front of her slowly took aim that her and fired. Light blinded Noin for several seconds. She closed her eyes hoping to stave off any pain of death. The suit jerked all around her and then was motionless.   
  
She opened her eyes to notice that she was not dead. The mobile suit she was in however was. All the power was gone, and nothing worked. She struggled to get the hatch open. Heero was on top of her making it very hard to move at all.   
  
She paused a second to check on Heero. His blood was now soaking her own cloths. "Damn it," she yelled.  
  
Noin struggle more fiercely to get the hatch open. It moved a little but not enough to even to get her hand trough. Faster she tried in desperation. Suddenly it opened up. The was that girl from the Talent show. Her long blond hair and double eyebrows. She put down a hand and spoke. "Come on, get out."   
  
Noin was nervous but desperate. She held out her hand to take hold of the one offered her.   
  
  
  
Heero, was barley able to even think. He was in lots of pain. He felt both cold and hot. His skin stinged in thick damp liquid. He could not tell, but he knew it was his own blood. He had been jerked around quite a bit after his Gundem was destroyed. It seemed they were actually tying to save him, even after all the trouble he caused them. Very foolish, and definitely not what a good soldier would do.   
  
He was lying awkwardly on top of a burring mobile suit. He tried to moved himself and actually succeeded to his disadvantage. He fell of the vehicle at least the height of a man. He was not sure nor cared. He tried to stand, but pain in his side prevented him. It felt like at least several of his ribs were broken.   
  
He then tried to crawl. IT was to painful. He caught for few times, which also really hurt. He looked at what came out. IT was blood. Not very good. Some voices caught his attention, probably very close, but he could not see. To much wreckage for him to see straight of far. Even though his vision was beginning to blur as well.  
  
"Let me go!" some female voice called out. "Damn you! You can't just leave him here!"  
  
"Shut up," a voice commanded, and fallowed by some grunting as it seemed that they silenced her forcibly.  
  
A shadow was then cast over Heero. He tried to looked up, but could only see not much above some small feet in boots. They looked like they were fitted for a woman. "Eh!!" he called out as loudly as he could which even he barley could here.  
  
"OH. Don't move. IT will just make you bleed faster." A devilish female voice said.   
  
Heero grunted more, trying to rip this woman apart. He could not move at all.  
  
"See isn't this just glorious. I do love how such destruction comes from intense battle. The adrenalin, the fear that you may not make it. Aren't these the things that are great about war?" she spoke. "However it seems that you are going to be able to enjoy all this very much longer."  
  
A hand began to stroke the hair on his head. "There there. Your will die making the earth great. You will be a true hero to be remembered. Oh dear was that a pun, or just very bad wit. Sorry. Well good-bye Heero. We got other pieces to use in our little game. Now."  
  
The feet moved away, and out of sight. Heero desperately tried to fallow her. He was not going without taking her with him. He was tricked. How good he let himself be fooled so easily. He would see his them pay for their mistake of using him. He suddenly, and violently coughed again. Blood spurting out like before but this time dripping out of his nose as well. His head fell now also unable to move.   
  
"I will get you…" He said trailing off into silence.  
  
  
  
  
  



	6. Galaxy Shonen Quatre, episode 6

Episode 06: "The Falling Sky"  
  
  
The group of Gundem pilots, few straight towards the colossal Libra floating suspended high over the stadium. Lady Une sat in the command chair watching at the view screen. Her Oz officers. She adjusted her glasses causally.   
  
"The targets are heading towards us Coronal." One of her subordinates said. "Should we send in our forces to intercept them.  
  
She gave a little sadistic grin. To do so always made her feel good. Anything to see Mr. Traiz plans to complete success. She would not fail. Not that in her position there would even be a chance. She commanded Lebra. And with out any type of damage, it was virtually unstoppable. And the poor boy Quatre would never fire on the ship that Sally is on. Not that he would know that they moved her.   
  
Her hand pointed at the images on the screen, and gave her orders. "Keep the mobile suits ready. Just in case. Fire all of Lebra's guns! And power up the main cannon."  
  
"Yes mam!" the Oz officers all acknowledged, and began working the controls.   
  
"Soon, little boy, you will finally serve your propose. Then find your self eliminated." She said calmly, with her fantastic vicious smile.   
  
  
  
Quatre flying higher and higher. He was happy that nearly all his friends were fallowing planning on protecting him. He will save Sally. Protecting his friends, and having them here to help him. Always such a good feeling. But now he will need to focused on a little fighting. He did not want to hurt anyone he would naturally give them the change to leave or lay down their arms. Anything to ovoid such a bad situation.   
  
"Hay man." Duo yelled out. "Why is all their mobile suits retreating away?"  
  
Poly-Arms yelled out, "It seems that they are going to regroup and attack in full force. Not what I expected, but a very wise move."  
  
"You idiot!" Wufie screamed. "They must have control of Lebra."  
  
"Every one watch out!" Catherin yelled.   
  
"Lo.. ok.. O… ver… the… re… Le… Br.. .A…" Releena warned, slowly.   
  
The massive star shape of Lebra suddenly opened up, and extended an endless number of guns. Hundreds or more, aimed down towards them. Quatre was shocked. He had never quite seen all the guns that Sally's Lebra had. IT was way too much.  
  
"Every one make sure you dodge for your life!" Duo screamed.  
  
"No!!!" Quatre yelled out. "We need to protect everyone below in the city."  
  
"Everyone, Quick spread out to the sides and circle up!" Poly-Arms yelled.   
  
They speed out and scattered in all directions as fast as they could. The shots from Lebra did not come yet. They all easily in range, but s till no shots. They must have been waiting to aim very well. Quatre wished this would all stop but he needed to convince them unfortunately.   
  
Duo was still fairly close to him. A good friend he was never abandoning him. He would make sure to treat him to a good snack after all this was over. The long swords of Sandrock began to glow. He was now fully ready. He was not going to be off guard like before.   
  
"Incoming!" Catherine warned.  
  
"Master Quatre move!" Rasid yelled.   
  
He moved as fast as he could, shots quickly few past him. Many getting close. The sky was full of bright glowing streams of light all emanating from Lebra. In a different situation it could have looked beautiful. But now they were just beams of death, flying the air.   
  
Everyone was dodging and swerving, for their lives. Some had tested the power of Sallys's Lebra in the past, so some of his fiends had a better idea of its power the Quatre. That worried him, but he had no more options any more.   
  
The continued to ascend slowly, and the effort to ovoid the blasts took up most effort of piloting.   
  
"This is only going to get harder as we get closer." Poly-Arms commented.   
  
Duo scowled. "I is damn difficult enough right now, thank you very much. I really could use a snack."  
  
"Once we get close to Libra, we will be in range of the mobile suits too. WE cant survive. With that much cross fire, damn dishonorable dogs they are." Meline said biting her teeth.   
  
The whole of them circled and weaved more. Quatre notices one of Sandrockes arms smoking. A mere graze but far to close for not even noticing it when it happened.   
  
"Has any one noticed that we are doing only leads us to suicide." Wufie commented. "there is not much Justice in dieing pointlessly."  
  
"The.. main.. ca..nn..an… has.. not… fu..lly.. cha..rged.. ye.. t…" Remeena pointed out. "I.. al… so… has… be…gan… run…ning.."  
  
"Ashe is right." Poly-Arms commented. "The will probably try to wipe us out with the big gun."  
  
"WE can not let that happen!" Catherine yelled out. "It will destroy the whole city."  
  
Quatre. Heard his friends words quite well. He had only one option to keep them safe, as well as the city. He did not want to hesitate even more. Also he did not want anyone hurt.   
  
"Everyone protect the city." Quatre yelled out. "I will handle this.   
  
"Hay buddy, don't say things like that." Duo spoke back.  
  
"Just do it." Quatre spoke more seriously.   
  
He then accelerated as fast as he could straight up. He moved side to side just a little bit, but focused more on speed then defense. He needed to save Sally, and stop Oz. There really only seemed one way to do it, and not involve everyone else.   
  
"Master Quatre," all his Moquinaqu pleaded with him. But he ignored them.   
  
This is something he would solve on his own. What ever it would take. He paused a second looking around his cockpit. For sec he almost did not feel like him self. What was he thinking, exactly? He was not quite sure, but he did not like it.   
  
Faster he flew, as shots from Lebra's cannons passed him. Some grazing, and others not so close. A Sting of luck seemed to be the only thing keeping him alive at the moment. But it was what needed to be done.  
  
"Quatre what are you doing?" Screamed Poly-Arms.   
  
"My dear Poly-Arms." Quatre whispered. "He really dose care for me." And that is why he would protect him, and he him self was protected.   
  
"Master Quatre!" Rasid yelled out, you are almost in range of the mobile suits!"  
  
Suddenly the entire sky became brighter. As well over a hundred flying mobile suits fired mortar guns, machine guns, lasers, and missiles. All likely aiming at Quatre himself.   
  
"Well he I go!" Quatre yelled out.   
  
  
  
Lady Un sat at Sally's comfortable command chair. She watched at the pathetic children scurried to try to attack Lebra. The boy Quatre was foolish enough to make things much easier for her. With the entire force of mobile suits aiming and him, plus the fire from Lebra, there was no possible escape.   
  
Well she her self was not going to take any more chances. "How much longer till the main gun is fully charged?" She demanded.  
  
"Just under two more minutes Coronal." An officer replied.   
  
"Good. As soon as it is ready, make its target the there!" she pointed to the screen.   
  
"But Mam. That is directly…"  
  
"Do as I say lieutenant." She yelled.   
  
"Ah. Yes Mam." He hesitantly spoke.  
  
"I will not let you run away, and I will not let your friends go too." She spoke to her self. "You will all die now. And then nothing will get in the way of Mr. Treise." She smiled with her thoughts of success.   
  
"Coronal. We are getting a report from Zechs Marquires. He and his force are under attack!" the Oz officers reported.  
  
"What?" Lady Une said shocked. "Who is it?"  
  
"Un-known Mam." The officer stated.  
  
"Damn!" she cursed. "Inform Mr. Triese immediately. But it seems there is no way to help him." She said with a small smile. She really did not care if Zechs had problems. She would hardly mind if he should have found him self dead in the morning. But still some other force? That concerned her, although it is likely just standard Earth forces, probably led onto Oz's plans, if not just a little late.   
  
She rested her eyes a second. Soon this will be over. Then Mr. Treise could then begin on his new order.   
  
  
  
  
Zechs dodge left, and then right, with full force. The staring mobile suits that attacked were completely unknown to him. He had never seen such a design before. They were mostly black in color and blended with the night sky. Fortunately radar still spotted them with out difficulty. They were fast, powerful, and had some sort of energy shield, like that of the boy Quatre's friend, what ever her name was.   
  
His force consisted of forty Aries. A strong but fast attack, and then added in the power of the Tallgees. Such a grouping should have been considered an adequate force verses most defenses of a base. However the other force was the one on the offensive now. It outnumbered them, at least fifty in number. They also did not need the number either.   
  
Nearly half his own were taken out in the first volley. The enemy, suffer zero loses.  
  
"The is no way to beat them, and we can't escape." Otto Yelled out.   
  
"Ehg." Zechs cursed. "Then all we can do is fight, and hope not to die."  
  
"Yes sir!" Otto replied.   
  
Zechs moved his Gundem fast, and sure to ovoid the deadly fire from all the mobile suits around him. He sweaped past one, slicing it in half with his beam saber. He took aim and fired his large caaon, causing another to protect its self with its shield.   
  
"Damn it!" he yelled out. "This will be very difficult to life through."  
  
Spinning now, to ovoid the glowing electrically death across the sky Zechs managed to destroy four, more. He however did not fully evade harm himself. His gun arm was removed after a single straight hit. Seconds later a foot, was vaporized clean of the Tallgees. He hurtled out of control, and crashed into two more of the black suits. He managed to destroy them too, with the trust beam saber.   
  
Suddenly he heard Otto, scream in pain. He turned to look, and saw his mobile suit falling to the ground burring.   
  
"No! Otto!" He called out.   
  
"Leave him." A loud die serious voice called to him.   
  
He re focused to the battle at hand, and found the black mobile suits retreating. All of his own forces had been destroyed. Zechs stood floating in the sky alone.   
  
From the darkness of the night another large mobile suit came from out of shadows. He could not make it out very well, it was quite dark. It was easier to spot, for it was not black like the others. Zechs made sure he was ready. "So it is to be a duel." He said to himself.  
  
"Who are you?" He demanded.  
  
"Zechs Marquires," A dry voice said back to him. "You are a great soldier. I give you this one chance to join us. You can have the power you want."  
  
"I am not into making deals. With the enemy." Zechs said back.   
  
"If you join us then you will not be your enemy." The dry voice said back. "I am sure you no longer feel for Trieze's cause any more. Not that it is going to even succeed."  
  
"His excellency will claim victory." Zechs said with force.  
  
"We won't let that happen. He thinks everyone is his pawns to play on a chess game. But dose not realize who actually decides to pick up and throw out the board." The voice taunted.  
  
"I will not betray his excellency." Zechs stated. "So it seems that we have no more choice but to fight." He ended with a little grin.  
  
"I do not care for pathetic duels. But I guess under the circumstances, you get to have one any way." The voice said, and the shadowy mobile suit rushed forward.   
  
Zechs pushed the Tallgees into full thrusts, and called out a fantastic yell as he drove into his attack. The other gundem came just as fast, and determined. A beam saber extended out from it. The two giant suits flew by passing each other and nearly the speed of sound.   
  
Zechs felt damage on his Tallgees, but was just minor. He turned hard, to come at his enemy. The other did just the same. Its speed was far superior to that of the Tallgees. They came to a charge again at each other.   
  
"So the same attack." Zechs said to him self. "All I got it the Beam saber left. Not like I got much choice." He ended in another kee-up.   
  
The to mobile suits came close. Zechs swung his great energy sword at its target. The other blocked with its own beam saber, and from its other arms whipped around some long chainlike weapon.   
  
"Shit!" Zechs yelled.  
  
The long line of chain links wrapped around the Tallgees, and caught it. There was a great jerk at the inertia leveled out. The beamsaber arms broke off, and the chain continued to constrict his gundem.   
  
The other mobile suit came close. It was white color, and looked like very similar to that of the Tallgees. Almost like a brother. It was completely untouched, and uncrushed. He could not watch anymore as the view screen cracked and shattered, in front of him. The rest of cockpit also imploded slowly towards him, as the other gundem kept squeezing. His mask then cracked violently. Then again more so.   
  
  
"Damn it." Is all Zechs could say.  
  
  
  
The Tallgees broken and still breaking more, did not even bother to struggle. The chain squeezed it as tightly and viciously as it could. Once it could no longer crush. The unknown Gundem brought its own beamsaber home.   
  
The Tallgeez exploded into a furious ball of flame. The new gundem, then took off like the wind disappearing into the night.   
  
  
  
  
Quatre was getting hit hard. His gundem was strong, and fast, but he was already pushing it to its limits. The night was no longer night with all the gun fire going on, and nearly all aimed at him.   
  
Back and forth he jurked , from one hit and then the other. He could barley make any movement at all. Little pieces, and then bigger pieces came off his Sandrock. His movement was only inches at a time. He had to do it to save Sally.   
  
Suddenly the Labra fire its main gun. The brightness was completely blinding. Quatre tried to move, but was completely un able to. The beam however did not envelop him when it came. It had just missed him.   
  
He looked down, through all of the turbulence. At least a mile long crater laid below him, where once the stadium was.   
  
"NO!" He shouted out. In terror. Then he stopped.   
  
Suddenly it was gone, and then the stadium was back. What had happened? A voice tried to answer him. He could not hear it at first. It began to get louder. "You know what needs to be done." His own voice told him. His own voice? How odd. Or was he just feeling tired, form all that was going on, and thinking oddly.   
  
"Come on." Quatre said. "Hurry up."  
  
"What I trying," He said back.  
  
"It is to powerful. You need to even it out. You know what needs to be done." His voice said.  
  
"I don't like it. But you are right. Wait sorry. I am right." He said.  
  
  
He let him self drop.   
  
"Quatre what now. You are insane." Duo yelled.  
  
"Lebra is about to fire its main gun." Poly-Arms yelled.  
  
"NO! IT Wont!" Quatre Yelled.   
  
"What!" Every one yelled.   
  
"Rasid, Abdul, Ahmand, and Auda!" Quatre yelled out. "All of you come to me! Combine!"  
  
"Yes master Quatre!" They screamed.   
  
"This is more like it!" Abdul commented joyously.  
  
Blinding light shined from Sandrock. Quatre fell out of Sandrock, and it changed shape. The maganat also reverted to their true forms and also then shifted shape. They all reformed around Quatre as he fell to the earth. Suddenly it was all done. Quatre then in his new gundem pulled up on the controls and leveled himself out.   
  
He then turned to face up to Lebra, and thrusted into full speed. Wing-Zero Attack. He accelerated to a speed much faster then any normal gundem could achieve. With in seconds he was above Lebra, and in the middle of the swarm of Oz mobile suits.   
  
"Take this" Quatre yelled out.  
  
The wing-Zero at his command broke apart it buster-rifle and aimed side to side and opened fire. He twisted slowly and adjusted his aim. Seconds later all the mobile suits were destroyed.   
  
Suddly his vision went a little blurry. The voice his voice came back. "One more target."   
  
He said back. "No I can go board it and save sally."  
  
"NO you can't" He said back to himself. "It attacked you. It is also the enemy."  
  
"No it isn't!" Quatre said back, as he took aim with both the wing-zero's cannons.  
  
The light blinded him as the both the powerful energy cannons fired at full power. He could not even see what he was pointing at. Even though he new exactly what it was.   



	7. Galaxy Shonen Quatre, episode 7

ÿþ                  O k ,   i t   t o o k   f o r e v e r ,   f a r   m o r e   t h e n   o v e r d u e ,   b u t   i   f i n a l y   f i n i s h e d   t h e   f i n a l   c h a p t e r   t o   t h e   s t o r y .     R e a d   a n d   e n j o y ,   s o r r y   f o r   a n y   p r o b l e m s ,   d o   t o   t i m e   c o n s t r a t e s   I   d i d   a   r u s h   e d i t i n g   j o b ,   b u t   i t   s h o u l d   b e   g o o d   e n o u g h   f o r   n o w .     I   a m   m e a r l y   p o s t i n g   t h i s   c h a p t e r   t o   f i n a l y   c o m p l e t e   t h e   s t o r y .     I ' l l   g o   t h r o u g h   a   m o r e   s e r i o u s   e d i t   j o b   a t   s o m e   l a t e r   d a t e .                       E p i s o d e   0 7 :      R e d e m p t i o n   a n d   R e t r i b u t i o n         Q u a t r e   w o k e   u p   c o v e r e d   h e a d   t o   t o e   i n   s w e a t .     H e   f e l t   a s   t h o u g h   h e   w h e r e   i n   a   s a u n a   a l l   n i g h t   l o n g .     H e   c o u l d   n o t   h e l p   h i m s e l f ,   h e   c o u l d   n o t   f i g h t   i t ,   a n d   h e   h a d   n o   c h o i c e .     H e   h a d   d e s t r o y e d   L e b r a ,   a n d   S a l l y   t o o .     H e   s w e a t   f i l l e d   f a c e   n o w   f e l t   t e a r s .     H i s   v e r y   o w n   t e a r s .     W h y   d i d   t h i s   h a v e   t o   h a p p e n ?             A n   i m a g e   o f   H e e r o   a p p e a r e d   a b o v e   h i m .     I t   s t a r e d   b a c k   a t   h i m   w i t h   v i c i o u s n e s s ,   t h e n   s u d d e n l y   d i s a p p e a r e d .     H e e r o ,   h o w   w h e r e   y o u   i n v o l v e d   w i t h   t h i s ?     W h y   d i d   p e o p l e   h a v e   t o   g e t   h u r t ?             H e   s l o w l y   c r e p t   o u t   o f   b e d .     H i s   r o o m   w a s   v e r y   m e a s l y .     D u o   w a s   n o w h e r e   i n   s i g h t .     H e   s l o w l y   c l e a n e d   u p   a n d   g o t   d r e s s e d .     T h e n   h e   h e a d e d   d o w n s t a i r s .             T h a t  s   w h e r e   h e   s a w   i s   f r i e n d   D u o ,   c h o m p i n g   a w a y   a t   a   l a r g e   d i s h   o f   e g g s ,   a n d   t o a s t .     Q u a t r e   s l o w l y   s a t   d o w n   a c r o s s   f r o m   h i m .       H e   j u s t   s a t   a n d   d i d   n o t   m o v e   o r   s p e a k .     T o o   m u c h   h a d   h a p p e n e d .     H e   d i d   n o t   e v e n   r e m e m b e r   w h a t   h a p p e n e d   a f t e r   h e   d e s t r o y e d   L e b r a ,   b u t   h e   h a d   a   g o o d   e n o u g h   i d e a .              H a y ! ! !     D u o   s h o u t e d .      Y o u   a r e   f i n a l l y   g o i n g   t o   c o m e   b a c k   t o   s c h o o l ?              W h a t ?   Q u a t r e   a s k e d   c o n f u s e d .              W e l l   i t s   b e e n   w e l l   o v e r   a   m o n t h ,   s i n c e   e v e r y t h i n g   h a p p e n e d .     I   w a s   s o   w o r r i e d   I   c o u l d n  t   s t o p   e a t i n g .     H e   s a i d   e n d i n g   w i t h   a   b i g   g u l p   o f   t o a s t   h e a d i n g   f o r   h i s   s t o m a c h .              A   m o n t h ?     Q u a t r e   c o u l d   n o t   b e l i e v e .          U m m   H u m m m ! ! !   D u o   s a i d   w i t h   h i s   m o u t h   f u l l . ,   t h e n   s w a l l o w e d .      Y e s ,   a n d   S a l l y   i s   a l i v e ,   D u o   s a i d   l e s s   e n t h u s i a s t i c a l l y ,    B u t   I   a m   a f r a i d   t h a t   M i s s   N o i n ,   a n d   H i l d i   h a v e   d i s a p p e a r e d .         D u o   s u d d e n l y   b e g a n   t o   c r y .     H i l d i   w a s   s p e c i a l   t o   h i m ,   a n d   t o   s e   h i m   h u r t ,   m a d e   m o r e   t e a r s   c o m e   t o   Q u a t r e  s   e y e s .     E v e r y t h i n g   w a s   a   c o m p l e t e   t r a g e d y .     H e   k n e w   e v e r y o n e   e l s e   m u s t   a l s o   b e   s a d .     P e r h a p s   Q u a t r e   t h o u g h t   h e   s h o u l d   h e l p   c h e e r   u p   e v e r y o n e ,   e v e n   i f   h e   h i m s e l f   w a s   s a d .              L e t s   g o   t o   s c h o o l   D u o .     Q u a t r e   s a i d   w i t h   a   s m a l l   s m i l e .              O k .     I   a m   g l a d   y o u   a r e   b e t t e r .     D u o   s a i d   s t i l l   l e s s   e n t h u s i a s t i c a l l y   a s   b e f o r e .                 T h e y   w a l k e d   s l o w l y   t o   t h e   s c h o o l ,   t h e   s a m e   p a t h   a s   a l w a y s .     T h e   s k y   w a s   b l u e ,   a n d   b e a u t i f u l   u n d e r   t h e   b r i g h t   s u n ,   a n d   c o m p l e t e l y   e m p t y   o f   c l o u d s .     T h i s   w a s   p e r f e c t   f o r   a   h a p p y   d a y ,   b u t   t h i n g s   w h e r e   n o t   r i g h t .     T h e   w a l k   w a s   l i k e   b e f o r e ,   b u t   w i t h   o u t   t h e   s e n s e   o f   h a p p i n e s s   t h a t   h a d   a l w a y s   b e e n   t h e r e .     T h i s   w a s   w r o n g .     Q u a t r e   d i d   n o t   l i k e   i t .     D u o   w a s   q u i t   q u i e t .     H e   w a l k e d   a t   Q u a t r e  s   s i d e ,   n i b b l i n g   o n   a   s n a k e   w i t h   h i s   h e a d   b e n t   d o w n .             S o o n   t h e y   a r r i v e d   a t   t h e   s c h o o l ,   a n d   i n t o   t h e   l e c t u r e   h a l l   o f   t h e i r   c l a s s .     A s   t h e y   e n t e r ,   Q u a t r e   c o u l d   s e e   T r o w a ,   a n d   W u f e i   s t a n d i n g   i n   t h e i r   u s u a l   s p o t   b e f o r e   c l a s s   s t a r t e d ,   t a l k i n g   q u i e t l y .     S t r a n g e l y   W u f e i   s e e m   a s   c o l d ,   a n d   t o   h i m s e l f   a s   T r o w a   u s u a l l y   w a s .             H e   w a l k e d   u p   t o   t h e m   a n d   s p o k e ,      H e l l o   g u y s !     H e   t r i e d   t o   s o u n d   e x c i t e d .         T h e y   t u r n e d   t o   h i m ,   a n d   T r o w a   s p o k e   f i r s t .      Y o u   f i n a l l y   r e c o v e r e d .          B o u g h t   t i m e .   W u f i e   s a i d   w i t h o u t   h i s   u s u a l   f i e r y   s p i r i t .          Y e s ,   I   d i d .     Q u a t r e   s a i d   s o f t l y .      S o   h o w   d i d   t h i n g s   e n d   u p .     I   w a n t e d   t o   g e t   m o r e   f r o m   D u o ,   b u t   h e   d o s e   n o t   s e e m   e a g e r   t o   t a l k ,   I   h e a r d   a b o u t   N o i n ,   a n d   H i l d i .         T r o w a   p a u s e d   f o r   a   m o m e n t ,   a n d   s p o k e .      W h e n   I   h e a r d ,   I   w a s   s h o c k e d .     I   m i s s   N o i n ,   a n d   H i l d i   w a s   a   g o o d   f r i e n d .     I   w i s h   I   w a s   t h e r e   w h e n   i t   a l l   h a p p e n e d .          Y o u   m a n a g e d   t o   D e s t r o y   L e b r a ,   b e f o r e   i t   c a u s e   t o   m u c h   d a m a g e ,     W u f e i   s a i d   s e r i o u s l y .      L u c k e l y   S a l l y   w a s   n o t   o n b o a r d ,   s h e   w a s   t a k e n   i n t o   c u s t o d y   b y   O z .          I t   a l s o   s e e m s   r i g h t   a f t e r   t h a t   n i g h t ,   O z   c o m m a n d e r   T r e i s   K u s h r e n a d a ,   t u r n e d   h i m s e l f   i n t o   t h e   a u t h o r i t i e s ,   a n d   s a i d   t h a t   h i s   a r r o g a n c e ,   a n d   l o v e   f o r   e a r t h   c a u s e d   h i m   t o   a c t   w r o n g l y .     T r o w a   a d d e d .         W u f i e   a l s o   s p o k e .      I t   a l s o   s e e m s   t h a t   h i s   t o p   c o m m a n d e r   Z e c h s   M a r q u i r e s   h i s   b e e n   k i l l e d ,   b u t   s o m e   u n k n o w n   f o r c e ,   a n d   e v i d e n c e   l i n k s   s o m e   s i m i l a r i t i e s   t o   t h e   r e m a i n s   o f   H i l d i  s ,   a n d   N o i n  s   m o b i l e   s u i t s .          O f   c o u r s e   t h e r e   i s   n o t h i n g   c o n c l u s i v e .     T r o w a   s a i d .          I   t h i n k   i t   h a s   s o m e   l i n k   t o   t h a t   s t r a n g e   m o b i l e   s u i t   w e   s a w   j u s t   b e   f o r   a l l   h e l l   c a m e   l o o s e .     W u f i e   s a i d ,   a n d   p a u s e ,   l o o k i n g   a t   T r o w a .      I   a m   n o t   s u r e   T r o w a   g o t   a   l o o k   a t   i t   t h o u g h .              E v e r y o n e   t a k e   t h e i r   s e a t s .     A   l o u d   f e m a l e   v o i c e   e c h o e d   t h r o u g h   o u t   t h e   r o o m .     E v e r y o n e   q u i c k l y   c o m p l i e d .     Q u a t r e   l o o k e d   t o   s e e   t h e i r   n e w   t e a c h e r ,   a n d   i n s t a n t l y   s m i l e d .              S a l l y !     H e   c h e e r e d .             S h e   s t o o d   a t   t h e   h e a d   o f   t h e   c l a s s ,   h o l d i n g   a   f o l d e r .     S h e   l o o k e d   b a c k   u p   a t   h i m ,   a s   h e   l o o k e d   d o w n .     S h e   h a d   a   w a r m   s m i l e .      Y e s ,   Q u a t r e ,   i t s ,   m e .     I   w i l l   b e   t e a c h i n g   t h e   c l a s s ,   f o r   a   w h i l e .     T i l l   a   n e w   L e b r a   c a n   b e   b u i l t ,   a t   l e a s t .             Q u a t r e ,   s a t   d o w n ,   f e e l i n g   m u c h   b e t t e r .     S t i l l   h u r t ,   b u t   m o r e   r e l i v e d .     I t   w o u l d   t a k e   a w h i l e   t o   g e t   u s e   t o   t h e   w a y   t h i n g s   h a v e   c h a n g e d   b u t   h e   w o u l d .     E v e n   s a d n e s s   m u s t   b e   o v e r c a m e ,   o t h e r w i s e   h o w   c a n   o n e   b e   h a p p y .     T o   b e   h a p p y ,   i s   t h e   o n l y   w a y   o n e   c a n   l i v e .              O H ,   I   w o u l d   l i k e   t o   a n n o u n c e   s o m e t h i n g   c l a s s .     S a l l y   s p o k e   o n c e   e v e r y   o n e   t o o k   t h e i r   s e a t s .      I   w a s   j u s t   i n f o r m e d   b e f o r e   g e t t i n g   t o   c l a s s ,   t h a t   w e   w i l l   h a v e   a   n e w   s t u d e n t   t r a n s f e r r i n g   h e r e .     H e   s h o u l d   b e   h e r e   a n y   m i n u t e .         A s   s h e   s a i d   s o m e t h i n g   c a u g h t   h e r   e y e   a t   t h e   s t a g e   e n t r a n c e .      O H   l o o k ,   h e   i s   a l l   r e a d y   h e r e .     C o m e   i n ,   a n d   o v e r   h e r e ,   t e l l   t h e   c l a s s   a b o u t   y o u r s e l f .     S a l l y   s a i d   h a p p i l y .         T h e   n e w   s t u d e n t   w a l k e d   i n   c a l m l y   a n d   s l o w l y .     A s   s o o n   a s   h e   c a m e   i n t o   v i e w   t h e   e n t i r e   c l a s s   w a s   s i l e n t .     Q u a t r e   c o u l d   n o t   e v e n   b e l i e v e   h i s   e y e s .     I t   s e e m s   t h a t   e v e r y t h i n g   a r o u n d   h i m   w a s   s o u n d l e s s ,   a n d   i s   e   w a s   i n   s o m e   s o r t   o f   v o i d   a n d   n o t h i n g   e l s e   b u t   t h e   n e w   s t u d e n t   w a s   e v e n   i n   e x i s t e n c e .         H i s   f u l l   a t t e n t i o n   d i d   n o t   e v e r   l e a v e   t h e   n e w   s t u d e n t   a s   h e   w a l k e d   a c r o s s   t h e   s t a g   a n d   u p   t o   t h e   p o d i u m .     T h e   c a l m   c l e a r i n g   o f   t h e   t h o u g h t ,   a n d   t h e n   e v e n t u a l l y ,   a n d   f i n a l l y   t h e   i n t r o d u c t i o n   s p e e c h .       T h e   v o i c e   w a s   c a l m ,   a n d   b e a u t i f u l ,   a n d   f a m i l i a r .              H e l l o   e v e r y o n e .     M y   n a m e   i s   Q u a t a r   A r a b l e   W i n n e r &     T h e   b o y   s a i d .           Q u a t r e   l o o k e d   i n   c o m p l e t e   c o n f u s i o n ,   a s   w e l l   a s   t h e   r e s t   o f   t h e   c l a s s .     T h e y   a l l   c o u l d   n o t   u n d e r s t a n d .     I n   f r o n t   o f   t h e m   s t o o d ,   a   s h o r t ,   y o u n g   b o y .     W i t h   s a n d   c o l o r e d   h a i r ,   a n d   a   p e a c e f u l   k i d   l i k e   f a c e .     T h e   e x a c t   m i r r o r   i m a g e   o f   Q u a t r e   h i m s e l f .     E v e n   t h e   s a m e   l a s t   n a m e .     H o w   c o u l d   t h i s   h a v e   h a p p e n e d ?              & I   h a v e   s p e n t   m o s t   o f   m y   l i f e   o u t   i n   d e e p   s p a c e ,   a n d   h a v e   j u s t   r e c e n t l y   c o m e   t o   e a r t h .     Q u a t a r   s a i d ,   a n d   c o n t i n u e d   m o r e   i n t o   h i s   t r a v e l s .     T h e n   c a m e   t o   t h e   e n d   o f   h i s   s p e e c h .      &  A n d   f o r   t h o s e   o f   y o u   w h o   m a y   b e   w o n d e r i n g .     Y e s ,   I   a m   Q u a t r e  s   b r o t h e r ,   b u t   w e   h a v e   n e v e r   s e e n   e a c h   o t h e r   b e f o r e   n o w .     I   h a v e   h e a r d   v e r y   m u c h   o f   w h a t   m y   b r o t h e r   h a v e   a c c o m p l i s h e d ,   a n d   t h a t   y o u   a r e   a l l   h i s   g o o d   f r i e n d s ,   I   t h a n k   y o u   f o r   y o u r   k i n d n e s s   t o   m y   b r o t h e r ,   a n d   h o p e   t h a t   w e   a l l   m y   b e   a b l e   t o   g e t   t o   k n o w   e a c h   o t h e r   w e l l .     H e   f i n i s h   w i t h   a   b o w .              A H &   S a l l y   h e s i t a t e d .      T h a n k   y o u   Q u a t a r ,   H o w   a b o u t   y o u   t a k e   t h i s   s e a t   o v e r   t h e r e .     I   w i l l   c r o s s   o f f   H e e r o   Y u i   i n   t h e   s e a t i n g   c h a r t .          T h a n k   y o u ,   M a m .     Q u a t a r   s a i d ,   b o w i n g   v e r y   p o l i t e l y .           Q u a t r e   w a s   d i s t r a c t e d   f o r   t h e   r e s t   o f   c l a s s ,   a n d   a l l   t h e   w a y   i n t o   l u n c h .     H e   c o u l d   n o t   s t o p   t h i n k i n g   a b o u t   Q u a t a r .     H i s   B r o t h e r ?     H i s   t w i n   b r o t h e r ?       H e   h a d   n e v e r   k n o w n .     M o m   a n d   d a d   n e v e r   s p o k e   a b o u t   s u c h   t h i n g s .                 Q u a t r e   a n d   D u o   w e r e   s i t t i n g   o u t s i d e   a t   t h e i r   f a v o r i t e   s p o t .     D u o   w a s   s c a r f i n g   d o w n   l o t s   o f   s a n d w i c h e s   t h a t   h e   b o u g h t .      S o   Q u a t r e ,   w h e n   d i d   y o u   e v e r   h a v e   a   b r o t h e r ?     I   d o n  t   r e m e m b e r   y o u   e v e r   h a v i n g   o n e .            I   n e v e r   k n e w .     Q u a t r e   s p o k e .              I   t h i n k   t h i s   i s   r a t h e r   o d d .   T r o w a   c o m m e n t e d .             Q u a t r e   j u m p e d   a t   T r o w a  s   v o c e .     H e   h a d   s n u c k   u p   o n   h i m .        A h ,   y o u   a r e   t e l l i n g   m e .     Q u a t r e   s a i d .             W u f i e   a l s o   b y   T r o w a  s   s i d e ,   s p o k e .      I   h a v e   t h i s   s t r a n g e   f e e l i n g   t h a t   h e   i s   c o n n e c t e d   t o   e v e r y t h i n g .              R e a l y ?     T r o w a   s a i d .      C o u l d   b e ,   i t   s e e m s   a   b i t   c o i n c i d e n t a l .          S o   a r e   y o u   g o i n g   t o   g o   s p e a k   t o   y o u r   b r o t h e r ?     D u o   a s k e d .      H e   s e e m s   n i c e   e n o u g h .     L o o k i n g   h e   i s   t a l k i n g   t o   t h o s e   g i r l s   f r o m   c l a s s   4 - B .              I s   t h a t   s u c h   a   g o o d   i d e a ?     T r o w a   a s k e d .           W u f e i   a d d e d ,    E s p e c i a l l y   w h e n   t h e   l a s t   t i m e   y o u   s p o k e   t o   a   n e w   s t u d e n t ,   h a l f   t h e   s c h o o l   e n d e d   u p   d e m o l i s h e d .         Q u a t r e   t u r n e d   r e d   a   b i t ,   w e l l   t h a t  s   w h a t   h e   t h o u g h t   h e   w a s   d o i n g .     H e e r o ,   d i d   c a u s e   s o m e   p r o b l e m s ,   b u t   t h e n   Q u a t a r   w a s   n o t   H e e r o   e i t h e r .     A n d   H e e r o ,   w a s   j u s t   b e i n g   f o r c e d   t o   f i g h t ,   h e   n e w   t h a t .     P o o r   H e e r o .          I   w i l l   t a l k   t o   h i m .     Q u a t r e   d e c l a r e d .      I   w o u l d   l i k e   t o   k n o w   m y   b r o t h e r ,   a n d   k n o w   w h y   h e   i s   h e r e ,   a n d   w h y   w e   n e v e r   m e t .          U m ,   h o w   a b o u t   l i k e   w h y   y o u   n e v e r   h e a r d   a b o u t   h i m   u n t i l   t o d a y ?     D u o   a d d e d .     I   m e a n   I   t h i n k   t h a t   m a y   b e   i m p o r t a n t .              W a n t   u s   t o   g o   w i t h   y o u ?     T r o w a   a s k e d .          N o t   t h a t   T r o w a   c o u l d   j o i n   y o u   w i t h   t h e   r e s t   o f   u s   w i t h   t h a t   A P P O I N T M E N T   y o u   n e e d   t o   g e t   t o .     W u f e i   s a i d   s t r a n g e l y   t o   T r o w a ,   a l m o s t   s t a r i n g   a t   h i s   e y e s .         T r o w a   n o d d e d   a n d   r e f o r m e d   h i s   f a c e .    T h a t   i s   r i g h t ,   I   c o m p l e t e l y   f o r g o t ,   t h e   a p p o i n t m e n t ,   t h a n k s   W u f e i .     H e   t h e n   w a l k e d   a w a y   w a v i n g   g o o d - b y e ,   a n d   d i s a p p e a r e d   i n t o   t h e   s c h o o l .              I   w o u l d   l o v e   y o u   g u y s   t o   c o m e ,   w i t h   m e ,   b u t   m a y b e   i t   w o u l d   b e   b e s t   f o r   m e   a n d   h i m   t o   t a l k   a l o n e   f i r s t .     Q u a t r e   s a i d .     H e   d i d   n o t   w a n t   t o   b e   i n t i m i d a t i n g   t o   h i s   b r o t h e r   b y   b r i n g i n g   a   w h o l e   g r o u p   o f   f r i e n d s .      I   w i l l   t a l k ,   t o   h i m ,   a n d   y o u   g u y s   c a n   j o i n   i n   a   f e w   m i n u t e s   h o w   i s   t h a t ?          I f   t h a t  s   w h a t   y o u   w a n t .   D u o   s a i d .              F i n e ,   y o u   c a n   b e   f o o l i s h   i f   y o u   w a n t   t o .     W u f i e   c o m m e n t e d .             Q u a t r e   l e f t   h i s   g o o d   f r i e n d s   a n d   w a l k e d   t o   i n   t h e   d i r e c t i o n   o f   t h e   n e w   s t u d e n t ,   h i s   b r o t h e r .     N o   o n e   e l s e   l o o k e d   l i k e   h i m ,   s o   i t   w a s   q u i t e   e a s y   t o   k e e p   h i s   e y e   t r a i n e d .     H e   w a s   n o t   e v e n   s u r e   w h a t   t o   s a y ,   b u t   k n e w   t h a t   a   w a r m   g r e e t i n g   w h a t   b e   w e l c o m e d ,   a n d   a p p r e c i a t e d .             A s   h e   a p p r o a c h   Q u a t a r   s e e m e d   t o   n o t i c e   h i m ,   a n d   s e e m e d   t o   b r e a k   w h a t   e v e r   c o n v e r s a t i o n   h e   w a s   a l r e a d y   i n ,   a n d   t h e n   w a l k e d   s o m e   w a y s   t o w a r d s   Q u a t r e   t o   m e e t   h i m   f a c e   t o   f a c e .              A h ,   h e l l o   m y   b r o t h e r ,   Q u a t a r   s a i d .          I t   i s   v e r y   n i c e   t o   s e e   y o u ,   Q u a t r e   s a i d ,   a n d   b o w e d .      I   h o p e   w e   c a n   b e   f r i e n d s ,   a n d   g e t   t o   k n o w   e a c h   o t h e r .              A h ,   m y   l i t t l e   b r o t h e r ,     I   k n o w   e v e r y t h i n g   t h e r e   i s   a b o u t ,   y o u .     I   a m   c e r t a i n l y   p r o u d ,   Q u a t a r   s a i d   o p e n i n g   h i s   a r m s   a n d   m o v e d   t o   e m b r a c e   Q u a t r e .             Q u a t r e   h u g g e d   h i m   b a c k ,   l i k e   a   b r o t h e r .      S o   h o w   c o m e   I   n e v e r   h e a r d   o f   y o u   b e f o r e ?     I   w o u l d   l o v e   t o   h a v e   k n o w n   I   h a d   a   b r o t h e r .          I t   i s   a   l o n g   s t o r y ,   m y   b r o t h e r ,    Q u a t a r   s a i d ,   b u t   w e   a r e   n o w   t o g e t h e r .         W i t h   t h a t   Q u a t a r   b r o k e   t h e   h u g ,   a n d   m o v e d   h i s   f a c e   i n ,   c l o s e   t o   Q u a t r e ,   a n d   l o c k e d   l i p s   w i t h   h i m .       Q u a t r e  s   f a c e   g r e w   a s   r e d   a s   a   t o m a t o .     Q u a t a r ,   h i s   b r o t h e r   w a s   k i s s i n g   h i m ,   a n d   w i t h   l o t s   o f   p a s s i o n .     T h i s   m a d e   h i m   v e r y   u n c o m f o r t a b l e ,   h e   t r i e d   t o   p u l l   a w a y ,   b u t   t h e n   Q u a t a r   g r a b b e d   h i m ,   a n d   h e l d   h i m   t i g h t .             Q u a t r e   u s e d   a l l   o f   h i s   s t r e n g t h   a n d   p u l l e d   o u t   b a r e l y ,   f a l l i n g   t o   t h e   g r o u n d .     H e   s k i n n e d   s o m e   o n   h i s   e l b o w ,   a n d   h e   h i t   t h e   g r o u n d ,   a n d   l o o k e d   u p   t o   Q u a t a r ,   w h o   s t o o d   t h e r e   w i t h   a   s m a l l   g r i n   r i s i n g   o n   o n e   s i d e ,   o f   h i s   f a c e .              W h a t  s   w r o n g ?     Q u a t a r   a s k e d ,   i n   a   s o m e w h a t   d i r e   v o i c e .      I s n  t   t h a t   w h a t   y o u   w a n t e d   t o   d o   t o   H e e r o ?          W h a t ?     Q u a t r e   s p o k e ,   i n   c o n f u s i o n .         Q u a t a r  s   f a c e   s e e m e d   t o   n o w   b e   e n g u l f e d   i n   s h a d o w s ,   h i s   e y e s   l o o k s   m e n a c i n g .     H i s   v o c e   b e c a m e   v e r y   w i d e ,   a n d   c o l d .      Y o u   v e r y   w e l l   k n o w   t h a t   i s   w h a t   y o u   w a n t   f r o m   H e e r o ,   I   k n o w   y o u   w a n t   h i m   t o   d o   t h e   s a m e   t o   y o u   t o .     W h a t   a   s h a m e   h e   i s   d e a d .            N O ,   w h a t ,   a r e   y o u   t a k i n g   a b o u t .     Q u a t r e   a s k e d ,      W h y ?              I   w a n t   y o u   Q u a t r e ,   t o   b e   w i t h   m e ,   a n d   p a r t   o f   m e .     Q u a t a r   s a i d .      B u t   a l s o   a t   t h e   s a m e   t i m e   I   w a n t   y o u   t o   b e   d e a d ,   b u t   n o t   j u s t   d e a d ,   t o   s u f f e r ,   a n d   f e e l   t h e   a m o u n t   o f   p a i n   t h a t   I   h a d   e n d u r e d   b e i n g   s e p a r a t e d   f r o m   y o u .     F o r   y o u r   b e t r a y i n g   m e .          I   d o   n o t   u n d e r s t a n d .     Q u a t r e   b e g a n   t o   c r y ,   P l e a s e   d o n  t   s a y   s u c h   t h i n g s .         Q u a t a r   c a m e   c l o s e r   a n d   k i c k e d   Q u a t r e   i n   t h e   c h e s t ,   k n o c k i n g   h i m   o v e r .     Q u a t r e   t r i e d   t o   p u l l   h i m s e l f   a w a y ,   c r a w l i n g   a s   m u c h   h e   c o u l d   b a c k w a r d s   s t i l l   l o o k i n g   a t   h i s   t w i n .              I   s t i l l   d o   n o t   k n o w   a b o u t   a l l   o f   t h i s ,   I   n e v e r   e v e n   k n e w   a b o u t   y o u .     Q u a t r e   s p o k e .           S u d d e n l y   a   h u g e   g u n d e m   d r o p p e d   d o w n   b e h i n d   Q a t a r .     I t   w a s   t h e   H e a v y A r m s .     T h a t   m e a n t   t h e   P o l y - A r m s   h a d   c o m e ,   o n c e   a g a i n   i n   t i m e   t o   h e l p   Q u a t r e   i n   n e e d .              L e a v e   Q u a t r e   a l o n e ,   T h e   l o u d   p o w e r f u l   v o c e   o f   P o l y - A r m s   e c h o e d .      I   w i l l   n o t   l e t   a n y   o n e   l a y   h a r m   t o   h i m .         Q u a t a r   l o o k e d   u p   a t   t h e   t a l l   r o b o t .      A n d   h o w   c a n   y o u   s t o p   m e ?     A p p a r e n t l y   y o u   n e v e r   h a v e   d e a l t   w i t h   a   N e w t y p e .          N e w t y p e .     I m p o s s i b l e !     P o l y   A r m s   y e l l e d   o u t .         Q u a t a r   g a z e d   d e e p l y   a t   t h e   h u g   H e a v y A r m s ,   a n d   s u d d e n l y   a   b r i g h t   b u s t   o f   e n e r g y   c a m   o u t   o f   h i s   b o d y ,   a n d   s t r u c k   d o w n   t h e   g u n d a m   i n   a   s i n g l e   h i t .              N O ! ! !   Q u a t r e   y e l l e d   o u t .             Q u a t a r   k n e l t   d o w n   b y   Q u a t r e   a n d   s t r o k e d   h i s   c h e e k   w i t h   a   h a n d .      Y e s ,   Q u a t r e   f e e l   t h a t   s u f f e r i n g .     B u t   d o n  t   w o r r y ,   t h e r e   w i l l   b e   m o r e   t o   c o m e ,   o n e   a s   f r i e n d l y ,   a n d   p o p u l a r   l i k e   y o u ,   a n d   m a n y   f r i e n d s   t o   s e e   h a r m e d .     A n d   t h e n   h e   w i t h   h i s   t o n g   l i c k e d   a   l o n g   s t r e a k   f o r m   q u a t r e  s   c h i n   t o   b r o w .      I   l o v e   y o u   m y   b r o t h e r ,   t h a t  s   w h y   I   w i l l   c u r e   y o u   o f   f r i e n d s h i p ,   b e f o r e   y o u   d i e .             M o r e   g u n d e m s   s u d d e n l y   a p e a r d ,     W u f i e  s   N u t a k u ,   a n d   D u o  s   D e a t h s c y t h ,   a n d   t h e   r e s t ,     R e l e e n a ,   M a l i n e ,   C a t h r e e n ,   t o   b a d   N o i n ,   a n d   H i l d i   w e r e   m i s s i n g .     T h e y   w e r e   a l l   r e a d y   f o r   b a t t l e .     A l s o   R a s i d ,   a n d   t h e   o t h e r   m o k r a n a c   c a m e .     A g a i n   a l l   t h e   f r i e n d s .              A h ,   a l l   y o u r   f r i e n d s   a r e   h e r e   Q u a t r e ,   H e   s a i d ,   p u l l i n g   h i m   u p ,   b y   h i s   h a i r .     T h e   p a i n   w a s   g r e a t ,   a n d   Q u a t a r   w a s   b e i n g   e x t r a   r o u g h .      S o   w h i c h   s h o u l d   I   k i l l   f i r s t ?     Y o u   g o o d   s a v i o r   P o l y - A r m s   i s   l y i n g   t h e r e   a l m o s t   d e a d ,   p e r h a p s ,   I   s h o u l d   b e   n i c e ,   a n d   d o   a   m e r c y   k i l l i n g .                N o ,   d o n  t   H u r t   a n y   o f   t h e m .     Q u a t r e   p l e a d e d .              B u t   o n c e   t h e y   a r e   g o n e ,   t h e n   y o u   c a n   f i n a l y   d i e .   Q u a t a r   s a i d .           R a s i d   c a l l e d   o u t ,      M a s t e r   Q u a t r e ,   c a l l   f o r   u s !             Q u a t r e   u n d e r s t o o d .       H e   w a s   n o t   g o i n g   t o   l e t   t h i s   b r o t h e r   o f   h i s   h u r t   h i s   f r i e n d s .      Q u a t a r .     I   w i l l   s t o p   y o u .     B u t   f i r s t ,   p l e a s e   j u s t   s t o p   n o w   a n d   t h e n   n o   o n e   n e e d s   t o   g e t   h u r t .     W e   c a n   s e t t l e   a n y   o f   o u r   d i f f e r e n c e ,   o r   p r o b l e m s ,   w i t h   o u t   h u r t i n g   p e o p l e .          N o ,     Q u a t a r   s a i d   t h r o w i n g   Q u a t r e   t o   t h e   g r o u n d .        I   w i l l   h u r t   t h e m   a l l .     K i l l   t h e m   a l l .     A n d   t h e n   y o u .         H e   p o i n t e d   t o   D u o ,   a n d   h i s   D e a t h s c y t h ,   a n d   a   b r i g h t   l i g h t   j u s t   a s   b e f o r e   e r u p t e d ,   a n d   t h e n   t h e   L a r d   b l a c k   c o l o r e d   g u n d a m   f e l l   i n   f l a m e s .              N o ,    Q u a t r e ,   y e l l e d .      A l l   c o m e   t o   m e .      W I N G   Z E R O !             T h e   a r e a   g l o w e d   b r i g h t   i n   a s   a l l   t h e   p i e c e s   c a m e   t o g e t h e r ,   a n d   W i n g   Z e r o   A p p e a r e d   a r o u n d   Q u a t r e .              Y e s !     Q u a t a r   y e l l e d   o u t .             Q u a t r e   p u l l o u t   h i s   B e a m   s w o r d ,   a n d   a t t a c k e d .     Q u a t a r   d o d g e ,   a n d   t o o k   o f f   f l y i n g .     S o o n   h e   f i r e d   o u t   e n e r g y   b o l t s ,   a n d   f i r e .     H e   s e e m s   v e r y   p o w e r f u l   w i t h   o u t   a   G u n a m .             T h e   o t h e r s ,   l a u n c h e d   t o   h e l p   h i m   o u t ,   b u t   t h e n   s u d d e n l y   m o r e   m o b i l e   s u i t s   a p p e a r e d .     M a n y   o f   t h e   w e i r d   b l a c k   o n e s ,   a n d   e v e n   a   l a r g e   L e o .         A n d   f r o m   t h e   s k y   c a m e   t h e   W h i t e   T a l l g e e s ,   s t r e a m i n g   i n t o   t h e   a r e a .                  N o w ,   y o u   h a v e   l o s t ,   Q u a t a r ,   y e l l e d   o u t .      Y o u   h a v e   n o   c h o i c e   b u t   t o   u s e   t h e   z e r o - s y s t e m   t o   e v e n   h a v e   a   c h a n c e   t o   d e f e a t   m e ,   a n d   m y   m i n i o n s ,   a n d   I   b r o u g h   m y   s o m e t h i n g   s p e c i a l   t o o .             S u d d e n l y   t h e   S a n d r o c k   K a i ,   a p p e a r e d   a r o u n d   Q u a t a r ,   a n d   o n   i t s   c h e s t ,   i t   h a d   H i l d i ,   a n d   N o i n   a t t a c h e d .        N o w   t r y   a n d   d e f e a t   m e ,   Q u a t r e ,   b u t   i n   o r d e r   t o ,   y o u   m u s t   k i l l   t w o   o f   y o u r   f r i e n d s ,   e i t h e r   w a y   i n   t h i s   b a t t l e   I   w i l l   w i n ,   b e   c a u s e   I   w i l l   h a v e   m a d e   y o u   s u f f e r .     Q u a t a r   y e l l e d .              Y o u r   a l i v e !     Q u a t r e   s a i d ,   h a p p i l y .       T h e y   h o w e v e r     d i d   n o t   a n s w e r ,   t h e y   b o t h   l o o k e d   t o   b e   u n c o n s c i o u s .             T h e   e n t i r e   a r e   s u d d e n l y   b e c o m e   n o i s y ,   a s   m a s s   a m o u n t s   o f   G u n d a m s   a n d   m o b i l e   s u i t s   b e g a n   f i g h t i n g   d e s p e r a t e l y .     L i g h t   f l a s h e d   a s   a l l   i n   t h e   b a t t l e   u s e d   t h e i r   e n e r g y   w e a p o n s .             Q u a t r e   a d v a n c e d   t o w a r d s   Q a t a r   f a s t .       T h e   S a n d r o c k   K a i   d o d g e   q u i c k l y ,   a n d   t h r e w   i t s   s w a r d s .       Q u a t r e   e v a d e d ,   a n d   c a m e   i n   f o r   a   s t r i k e .             H o w   w a s   h e   g o i n g   t o   p r o t e c t   h i s   f r i e n d s .     H e   c o u l d   n o t   l e t   h i m s e l f   f a l l   i n t o   t h e   c l u t c h e s   o f   t h e   Z e r o - s y s t e m .     T h a t   i s   w h a t   h a d   t o   h a v e   h a p p e n e d   t h e   t h a t   n i g h t .     W h a t   h a d   h a p p e n e d ?              C o m e   o n   Q u a t r e   Q u a t a r   y e l l e d .      Y o u   f r i e n d s   c a n  t   b e   t h a t   p o w e r f u l   o f   s h i e l d .         H e   t h r e w   h i s   s w o r d s   t o w a r d s   Q u a t r e   a n d   h i s   G u n d a m .     D u c k i n g   h e   j u s t   a v o i d e d   t h e m .     B u t   b a r l e y .          N o t   g o o d   e n o u g h !     Q u a t a r   y e l l e d .           S u d d e n l y   b r i g h t   l i g h t   c a m e   f r o m   t h e   S a n d r o c k   g u n d e m   a n d   h i t   W i n g   Z e r o   b r e a k i n g   o f f   t h e   s h i e l d .             Q u a t r e   w a s   s h o c k e d .              O H ,   h e   i s   a   N e w t y p e ,   h e   c a n   a t t a c k   e v e n   w i t h o u t   w e a p o n s   o n   t h e   m o b i l e   s u i t .     H e   h e a r d   a   m u f f l e d   h u r t   P o l y - A r m s   v o i c e   s t r u g g l e   t o   s p e a k .         A r o u n d   h i m   a n d   h i s   s o   c a l l e d   b r o t h e r   a   m a s s i v e   b a t t l e   w a s   e n s u i n g .     H i s   f r i e n d s   h o l d i n g   o f f   t h e   o t h e r   M o b i l e   S u i t s .     T h e y   s e e m s   v e r y   d i f f i c u l t ,   b u t   h i s   f r i e n d s   w e r e   s t r o n g   a n d   b r a v e .     A l l   o f   h i s   f r i e n d s   c o u l d   t a k e   c a r e   o f   w h a t   e v e r   t r o u b l e   t h o s e   m o b i l e   s u i t s   p o s e d ,   b u t   h e   h i m s e l f   w o u l d   b e   t a k i n g   Q u a t a r ,   a n d   h e   h a d   t o   b e   c a r e f u l   a b o u t   i t .     N o i n   a n d   h i l d i   n e e d e d   t o   b e   r e s c u e d .     T h e y   w e r e   g o o d   f r i e n d s .            Y o u   a r e   h a r d l y   t r y i n g   Q u a t r e ,   H u r r y   a n d   k i l l   y o u   f r i e n d s .     Q u a t a r   y e l l e d .           Q u a t r e   c a r e f u l l y   t r i e d   t o   t a k e   o u t   t h e   o t h e r   G u n d a m  s   l i m b s ,   w i t h   o u t   t o u c h i n g   t h e   m a i n   b o d y   w h e r e   h i s   t w o   f r i e n d s   w e r e   h e l d .     E a c h   t r y ,   m o r e   o f   t h e   W i n g   Z e r o   k e p t   b r e a k i n g   o f f ,   a t   t h e   s t r i k e s   o f   Q u a t a r .            T h i s   i s   r e a l l y   d i f f i c u l t .     T h e   W i n g   Z e r o   i s   n o t   g o i n g   t o   t a k e   m u c h   m o r e .   Q u a t r e   s a i d .              S o r r y ,   c a n t   h e l p ,   C a t h e r i n   y e l l e d   b a c k ,   w e e   a r e   r e a l l y   b u s y   t o o .          I   k n o w .     Q u a t r e   y e l l e d .      K e e p   t o   w h a t   y o u   a r e   d o i n g .     I   m a y   h a v e   t o   r i s k   i t .           Q u a t r e   b e c a m e   m o r e   a g g r e s s i v e .     H e   s t i l l   h a d   t o   b e   c a r e f u l ,   h e   c o u l d   n o t   l e t   h i s   f r i e n d s   g e t   h u r t .     W i t h   o n e   m o r e   p a s s ,   Q u a t a r   m a n g e   t o   b r e a k   o f f   t h e   l e f t   a r m .       S t i l l   g e t t i n g   w o r s e ,   h e   c o u l d   n o t   w i n   a t   t h i s   p o i n t .     I f   o n l y   h e   c o u l d   u s e   i s   f u l l   p o w e r .             P o l y - A r m s   s p o k e   o u t   v e r y   d i f f i c u l t l y .      H e  s   a   N e w t y p e &    D o n  t &     H e   d i d   n o t   f i n i s h   t h e   s e n t e n c e .             Q u a t r e s   h e a r t   s t o p p e d .                  P o y l - A r m s !     H e   y e l l e d .           T h e r e   w a s   n o   r e s p o n s e .            P o l y - A r m s !     Q u a t r e   s c r e a m e d   a g a i n .         A g a i n   h e   f e l t   n o   a n s w e r .             T h e   v o i c e   a n s w e r e d   h i m   t h o u g h .      J u s t   l i k e   l a s t   t i m e .     U s e   i t .          S H U T   U P !     Q u a t r e   y e l l e d .             S e e m i n g l y   t h e   e n t i r e   b a t t l e   s t o p p e d ,   a n d   h e a r d   t h e   v o i c e s   o f   a l l   h i s   f r i e n d s   y e l l i n g   a t   h i m   t o   s t o p ,   o r   s o m e t h i n g .     H e   d i d   n o t   p a y   t h e m   a n y   a t t e n t i o n s .     H e   o n l y   n o t i c e d   t h e   s i n g l e   t e a r   s t r e a k   d o w n   t h e   s i d e   o f   h i s   f a c e .               E v e r y t h i n g   s o o n   d r o w n e d   o u t   i n t o   s i l e n c e ,   a n d   b l a c k n e s s .     Q u a t r e   s a t   i n   a n   e e r i e   q u i e t   s h a d o w .       H e   s a t   m o t i o n l e s s .     H e   w a s   u n a b l e   t o   m o v e .     N o t   e v e n   t o   b l i n k .       H e   d i d   n o t   e v e n   n o t i c e   h o w   h i s   s t r o n g   G u n d e m   w a s   b e i n g   s t r u c k   a n d   b e a t e n   b y   Q u a t a r .     H e   d i d   n o t   e v e n   h e a r   w h a t   h i s   d o u b l e   s a i d   s h o u t i n g   a s   t h e   m e c h   w a s   b e i n g   c h o p p e d   t o   p i e c e s .             H i s   f r i e n d s   y e l l e d ,   b u t   h e   d i d   n o t   h e a r ,   o r   a n s w e r .           B u t   i t   w a s   n o t   l o n g .     I t   s e e m s   l i k e   i t   w a s   f o r e v e r .     B u t   i t   w a s   r e a l l y   s h o r t .              F i n e .     Q u a t r e   s a i d   a n g l i n g   h i s   e y e s   u p   t o w a r d s   h i s   e n e m y .        Y o u   w a n t   m y   i n   t h e   u n d e r   Z e r o   s y s t e m ,   t h e n   y o u   w i l l   g e t   t h a t   w i s h .     B u t   y o u   w i l l   n o t   m a k e   m y   f r i e n d s   s u f f e r .     Q u a t r e   s a i d   i n   a   c o l d   v o i c e .             Q u a t a r   s m i l e .      F i n a l l y   y o u   w i l l   s u f f e r !             Q u a t r e   l o o k e d   b a c k   a t   h i s   m i r r o r   w i t h   u n b l i n k i n g   e y e s .     A n d   o n e   c h e e k   d a m p   f r o m   h i s   t e a r .      O h ,   I   d i d   n o t   i n t e n d   f o r   m y   f r i e n d s   t o   s u f f e r .             W i t h   t h a t   t h e   W i n g   Z e r o s   a r m s   s h o t   o u t   a n d   c a u g h t   t h e   S a n d r o c k   K a i   a r o u n d   t h e   n e c k .            W h a t   t h e ?     Q u a t a r   s h o u t e d .   A s   h i s   g u n d a m   b e g a n   t o   s p a r k ,   a n d   s h o r t - c i r c u i t   u n d e r   t h e   c r u s h i n g .             T h e   h e a d   o f   t h e   g u n d e m   w a s   s l o w i n g   b e i n g   s q u i s h e d   i n   t h e   s i n g l e   h a n d   o f   t h e   W i n g   Z e r o .     T h e n   i t   s n a p p e d ,   a n d   t h e   G u n d e m   s t o p p e d   m o v i n g .          W h a t . . .     W h a t   a r e   y o u   d o i n g ?     Q u a t a r   a s k e d   n e r v o u s l y .              H a   h a   h a ! ! !     Q u a t r e   l a u g h e d   o u t   f e r o c i o u s l y .      I   g o i n g   t o   k i l l   y o u .              N o !     Q u a t a r   y e l l e d .      I t s   m e   i s   s u p p o s e   t o   k i l l   y o u .     A n d   m a k e   y o u   s u f f e r .              I   w i l l   s h o w   y o u   s u f f e r i n g .     Q u a t r e   s c r e a m e d .             T h e   W i n g   Z e r o ,   t h r e w   t h e   S a n d r o c k   K a i .     I t   c r a s h e d   t o   t h e   g r o u n d   h a r d ,   o n   i t s   b a c k .       Q u a t r e   t o o k   a i m   w i t h   t h e   B u s t e r   r i f l e   a n d   p o w e r e d   u p .          D i e ! ! !     Q u a t r e   s h o u t e d .          N o ! ! !     Q u a t a r   y e l l e d .      H o w   y o u   w i l l   k i l l   y o u r   f r i e n d s .           Q u a t r e   d i d   n o t   r e p l a y   o r   l i s t e n .     H e   o n l y   p u l l e d   t h e   t r i g g e r .               B l i n d i n g   l i g h t   s p r a y e d   e v e r y w h e r e   a n d   t h e n   f o r m e d   i n t o   a   b r i g h t   s t r e a m   o f   d e a t h   h e a d i n g   t o w a r d s   t h e   S a n d r o c k   K a i ,   Q u a t a r ,   a n d   H i l d i ,   a n d   N o i n .             A n o t h e r   G u n d a m   h a d   a p p e a r e d ,   c r o s s i n g   r i g h t   i n   f r o n t   o f   t h e   b e a m s ,   a n d   a l s o   r e c e i v e d   t h e   s t r i k e .     I t   w a s   t h e   Z e r o - O n e .       Q u a t r e   q u i c k l y   n o t i c e d .     A n o t h e r   t e a r   f e l l   f r o m   h i s   e y e .              H e e r o ?             T h e   S a n d r o c k   K a i   w a s   n e a r l y   a l l   o b l i t e r a t e d .     Q u a t r e   t u r n e d   t o   s e e   t h e   Z e r o - O n e .     O n l y   t h e   p a r t   o f   t h e   t o r s o ,   a n d   t h e   l e f t   a r m   r e m a i n e d .     I t   w a s   h o l d i n g   t h e   s h i e l d   w i t h   N o i n ,   a n d   H i l d i .              H e e r o ?     Q u a t r e   s a i d   s o f t l y .        Y o u   s a v e d   t h e m .     F r o m   m e .             Q u a t r e   j u m p e d   o u t   o f   t h e   W i n g   Z e r o ,   a n d   i t   d i s a p p e a r e d   i n t o   l i g h t ,   a n d   i t s   c o m p o n e n t s ,   w h o   a l s o   j o i n e d .              R e t r e a t !     A   f e m a l e   v o i c e   y e l l e d ,   a n d   a l l   t h e   a t t a c k e r s   t o o k   o f f   f o r   t h e   s k y   t o   g e t   a w a y .           Q u a t r e   r a n   u p   t o   t h e   d a m a g e d   h u l k   o f   w h a t   r e m a i n e d   o f   t h e   g u n d a m .     H e   r i p p e d   o p e n   t h e   c o c k p i t   w i t h   a l l   h i s   s t r e n g t h .     I t   w a s   h a r d ,   b u t   n o t h i n g   w a s   g o i n g   t o   s t o p   h i m .     H e   d i d   n o t   c a r e   h o w   h o t   i t   w a s .     H e   t o u g h   t h r o u g h   t h e   b u r n s ,   a n d   h e   g a i n e d   a c c e s s   t o   t h e   i n s i d e .             H e e r o   w a s   t h e r e   l i k e   h e   t h o u g h t .     H e   w a s   c o v e r e d   i n   B l o o d ,   a n d   l o o k e d   b a r l e y   w i t h   l i f e .     Q u a t r e   j u m p e d   i n   a n d   e m b r a c e d   h i m .     H e   g r u n t e d   i n   p a i n   a t   h i s   e m b r a c e .       B u t   h e e r o   t o o k   q u a t r e   i n t o   h i s   a r m s .     H e   s l o w l y   s p o k e .              I   c a n  t   l e t   y o u   f r i e n d s   d i e .     H o w   c a n   y o u   b e   h a p p y   w i t h   o u t   f r i e n d s .     T h e n   h e   f e l l   l i m p .          H e e r o ! ! !     Q u a t r e   y e l l e d   o u t .                             T h e   e n t i r e   g r o u p   c a m e   a r o u n d .     C a t h r i n e   a n d   D u o ,   h e l d   P o l y - A r m s   u p .     H e   w a s   i n j u r e d   b u t   h u n g   o n   t i g h t   t o   k e e p   s t a n d i n g .     O n e   t h e y   g o t   c l o s e   t o   t h e   d e b r i s .     D u o   s w i t c h   o f f   w i t h   W u f i e   t o   r u n   t o   H i l d i .              H o w   c a n   a   s u p e r   h e r o   l i k e   y o u   g e t   i n j u r e d   s o   b a d ?     W u f e i   d e m a n d e d .                E H ,   i t   h a p p e n e d   t o   t h e   b e s t   o f   u s ,   t i m e   t o   t i m e .     P o l y - A r m s   s a i d .      E v e n   Q u a t r e   I   f e a r .            H e   m a y   b e   w e a k   m i n d e d ,   b u t   h e   d o s e   h a v e   a   p u r e   h e a r t .     W u f i e   c o m m e n t e d .              Y e s .     B u t   i t   d o s e   n o t   t a k e   m u c h   t o   t a i n t   a   h e a r t .     E s p e c i a l l y   a   p u r e   o n e .     Q u a t r e s   h e a r t   i s   c e r t a i n l y   t h e   p u r e s t   o n e   a r o u n d .     I t   c a n   b e   d a n g e r o u s .     P o l y - A r m s   s p o k e .             T h e y   w a t c h   a s   Q u a t r e   e m b r a c e d   H e e r o ,   a n d   t h e   r e s t   g a t h e r e d   t o   h e l p .                         W e e k s   p a s s e d ,   a n d   t h i n g s   s e e m e d   b a c k   t o   n o r m a l .     T h a t   i s   w i t h   t h e   a d d i t i o n   o f   H e e r o   t o   t h e   g r o u p .     T h a t   m a d e   Q u a t r e   f e e l   w o n d e r f u l .     A n o t h e r   f r i e n d .     T h e y   a l l   s a t   i n   t h e   f r o n t   r o w   s e a t s   a t   t h e   s t a d i u m .     T h e   T a l e n t   s h o w   w a s   b a c k ,   a n d   a f t e r   s o m e   d e l a y ,   w a s   g o i n g   t o   p u t   b a c k   o n   t h e   s h o w .             I T   w a s   w o n d e r f u l .     E v e r y   o n e   w a s   b a c k   t o g e t h e r ,   a n d   h a p p y   l i k e   n o t h i n g   h a d   e v e r   h a p p e n e d .     H i l d i ,   s t i l l   k e e p i n g   t h e   e v e r - h u n g r y   D u o   i n   l i n e .     W u f i e   s t i l l   a s   s t o i c   a s   b e f o r e .     R e l e e n a   a s   c a l m   a n d   p a t e n t .             H e   l o o k e d   t o   H e e r o ,   w h o   s a t   n e x t   t o   h i m .     T r u l y   a n o t h e r   f r i e n d .     T h e n   h e   s u d d e n l y   n o t i c e d .     R e l e e n a   w a s   o n   t h e   o t h e r   s i d e ,   a n d   s h e   w a s   l e a n i n g   u p   a g a i n s t   H e e r o .     S h e   s e e m s   a l m o s t   a s l e e p   w i t h   a   w a r m   s m i l e   o n   h e r   f a c e .                 S h e   m u s t   h a v e   b e e n   r e a l l y   t i r e d   h e   t h o u g h t ,   a n d   t u r n e d   t o   s e e   D u o   a n d   H i l i d y   i n   s o m e   s o r t   o f   h a n d   w r e s t i n g   m a t c h   w i t h   a   b a g   o f   p o p c o r n .               T h e n   h e   l o o k e d   t o   T r o w a ,   w h o   w a s   r i g h t   a t   h i s   o t h e r   s i d e .        Y o u   k n o w   T r o w a .     Q u a t r e   s a i d .      I   s t i l l   f i n d   i t   h a r d   t o   b e l i e v e   w i t h   a l l   t h a t   w e n t   o n ,   t h a t   y o u   m i s s e d   i t   a l l .     Y o u   j u s t   n e v e r   s e e m   t o   b e   i n   t h e   a c t i o n .             T r o w a   g a v e   a   l i g h t   s m i r k .      I t   j u s t   h a s   g o t   t o   b e   b a d   l u c k .     T h a t  s   a l l .              I t s   s t i l l   v e r y   u n b e l i e v a b l e .     A n d   t h a t   y o u   n e v e r   h a v e   b e e n   a b l e   t o   o n c e   s e e   P o l y - A r m s   s h o w   u p .     Y o u   d o   n o t   k n o w   w h a t   y o u   a r e   m i s s i n g .             B e f o r e   T r o w a   c o u l d   a n s w e r   W u f i e   s t o o d   u p   f o r m   b e h i n d   t h e m .      I t s   t h a t   o n e   G i r l   a g a i n .     T r y i n g   t o   s h o w   o f f   h e r   w e a k   m a r t i a l   a r t s .             C a t h e r i n e   L a u g h e d .      A r e   y o u   r e a l l y   t h a t   b o t h e r e d   b y   h e r .            H m m m p h . .     W u f i e   s a i d .      M a y b e   i f   I   s h o w e d   h e r ,   s h e   w o u l d   l e a r n .              I s   t h a t   r e a l l y   w h a t   i t   i s   W u f i e ?   Q u a t r e   a s k e d .            L e a v e   m e   a l o n e ,   I   w i l l   n o t   t a k e   y o u r   p e t t y   m i s c o n c e p t i o n s .     W u f i e   s p o k e .             T h e y   a l l   l a u g h e d ,   a n d   c o n t i n u e d   t o   w a t c h   t h e   s h o w .     I T   w a s   a   b l a s t ,   a n d   t h e y   a l l   g o t   t o   c o m p e t e .     Q u a t r e   t o t a l l y   w a n t e d   t o   w i n .     T h e n   c l a i m   h i s   p r i z e .     T h e   w o n d e r f u l   P o l y - A r m s .                     T h e   E n d &    O r   i s   i t ?                 E p i l o g u e :         T h e   r o o m   o f   b l a c k e n e d   m e t a l   w a s   h u g .     I t   w a s   b o t h   s p e c t a c u l a r ,   a n d   m e n a c i n g   a t   t h e   s a m e   t i m e .       T h e   t o p e   l o r d s   o f   t h e   d a r k   e n t e r e d   f r o m   t h e   f a n t a s t i c a l l y   l a r g e   d o o r s ,   a l s o   m a d e   o f   b l a c k   m e t a l .             M i l i a r d o ,   D o r a t h y ,   a n d   D u k e   D r a m a i l   e n t e r e d   a n d   a p p r o a c h e d   t h e   o t h e r   s i d e .     I t   w a s   f i l l e d   w i t h   m a n y   t r o o p s .     M o s t l y   t h e   l e a d e r s   o f   d i v i s i o n s   a n d   s u c h .     T h e y   a p p r o a c h e d   t h e   r a i s e d   d a i s   o n   t h e   f a r   s i d e ,   t h a t   h e l d   a t o p   i t   a   s h i n y   s i l v e r   t h r o w n .       I n   t h e   t h r o n e ,   s a t   a   y o u n g   g i r l   p o s i n g   a   c h i l d i s h   d i r e   l o o k .     S h e   s a t e   i n   t h e   f a n c y   c h a i r ,   w h i c h   l o o k e d   f a r   t o   l a r g e   f o r   t h e   s m a l l   b o d y .     H e r   t i n y   f e e t   w e r e   f a r   f r o m   r e a c h i n g   t h e   d a i s   o f   w h i c h   i t   s a t   a t o p .            M y   l a d y .     M i l l i a r d o   s a i d ,   k n e e l i n g .        I t   s e e m s   t h a t   Q u a t a r   h a s   f a i l e d .     H e   h a s   p e r i s h e d .            G o o d !     T h e   c h i l d   s p o k e .      H e   w a s   n o t   a b l e   t o   d e s t r o y   Q u a t r e   s o   h e   d e s e r v e d   d e a t h .     I   g u e s s   i t   m e a n s   t h a t   t h e   w h o l e   e x p e r i m e n t   f a i l e d .     A p p a r e n t l y   t h e   c l o n e   c a n  t   s t a n d   u p   t o   t h e   o r i g i n a l ,   e v e n   i f   N e w t y p e .            T h e   p o w e r   o f   Q u a t r e   d i d   n o t   e v e n   m a n i f e s t   w i t h   i n   t h e   c l o n e .     D u k e   D r a m a i l   s a i d .            A h ,   h o w   c a n   I   h a r n e s s   t h a t   p o w e r ?     T h e   g i r l   s p o k e .      I   w a n t   i t .     A n d   i f   I   c a n t   h a v e   i t ,   I   w a n t   i t   d e s t r o y e d .              A n y t h i n g   y o u   c o m m a n d   m y   l a d y .     M i l l i a r d o   s p o k e .             S h e   s m i l e d   a t   h i s   p o l i t e n e s s .     A d u l t s   w e r e   s t r a n g e   p e o p l e .              T h e   G o d d e s s  s   s h i p   w a s   d e s t r o y e d .     I t   w i l l   t a k e   h e r   s o m e   t i m e   t o   r e b u i l d .     A n d   O z   h a s   b e e n   h u m i l i a t e d ,   a n d   l i k e l y   w i l l   b e   s h u t   d o w n   d o   t o   t h e   i n c i d e n t .     O n l y   t h e   d e s t r u c t i o n   o f   Q u a t r e   h a d   n o t   b e e n   a c c o m p l i s h e d .     D o r a t h y   s a i d ,   w i t h   a   s m i l e .              Y o u r   r i g h t .     T h e   g i r l   s p o k e   c o c k i n g   h e r   h e a d   t o   o n e   s i d e .      S o   y o u r   p a r t   o f   t h e   p l a n   d i d   s u c c e e d .     G o o d .     D o r a t h y .     Y o u   w i l l   b e   i n   c h a r g e   o f   d e s t r o y i n g   Q u a t r e   n o w .     P r o c e e d .             D o r a t h y   g a v e   a   s l o w   c u r t s y .      Y e s   m y   l a d y .     I   w i l l   n o t   f a i l   y o u .             D u k e   D r a m a i l   g a v e   a   s m a l l   G r o w l .              W e l l   b e   o f f   w i t h   y o u .     G e t   w h a t   e v e r   i t   i s   y o u   a r e   g o i n g   t o   d o   d o n e .     T h e   g i r l   s a i d .      T h e   g a l a x y   i s   m i n e   a n d   I   w a n t   e v e r y o n e   t o   r e l i e s   t h a t .          Y e s ,   L a d y   M a r a m a i a .     T h e   t h r e e   s h o u t e d   a n d   m a r c h e d   o f f &


End file.
